


Against Expectations

by Blue_Sparkle, summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Awkward First Times, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Background Relationships, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Eventual Smut, Femme Aziraphale (Good Omens), Friends to Lovers, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Misunderstandings, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Regency Romance, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, everybody is bisexual in this fic because i said so, the gabriel tag is there but hes not in this fic a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Sparkle/pseuds/Blue_Sparkle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: After being pressured by their families into a marriage neither of them want, Aziraphale and Crowley resign themselves to an unfulfilling life together. For Aziraphale that means trying to be the dutiful wife she was always taught to be and for Crowley it means hiding an important part of who he is.story by summerofspock and art by Blue_Sparkle
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device
Comments: 1187
Kudos: 1527
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs, Ineffable Humans AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This will be a particularly long A/N. I swear future chapters won't have notes this long.
> 
> First, welcome to the big project I've been not-so-quietly working on with Blue_Sparkle for the last two months. If you've followed either of us, you know we are both soft for femme!Az and general expressions of genderfuckery. This is a wonderful mix of both of those things plus our mutual love of historical fashion and romance aka the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. Therefore, I must warn, historical accuracy was not high on my list of priorities here. I hope you enjoy it nontheless.
> 
> Second, Crowley is genderfluid in this fic. I'm going to use the term genderfluid and what I mean is that sometimes Crowley is a man and sometimes Crowley is a woman who goes by Miss Ashtoreth in a social setting among friends. This is a big part of the joy he finds in his life. There will be some moments where characters, with the best of intentions, struggle to understand Crowley. That being said, exactly zero bad things happen to Crowley due to genderfluidity because *slaps roof of fic* this bad boy can fit so much joy in it.
> 
> Third, Blue_Sparkle had such a huge part in brainstorming this fic that I've given them co-author credit here. They've also drawn art which I've embedded in the fic. There will be about one piece per chapter and I've been so lucky to be working with them. There's been a lot of joy, and yelling, and, as they say, heart-boners.
> 
> Finally, I will be updating this fic every other week on Friday until I have written the entire fic. Right now I have two-thirds of it and I'm still working on silent wood and Faulty Start so if you're reading any of my other fics, I will absolutely still be updating them, this fic has just ended up as my happy place for the last month or so. I hope it can be a happy place for you too.
> 
> \-- Summer

It should have been a good party. A great party. Crowley had bought a new dress for it, laced herself into her best stays, and prior to dinner with her parents the weekend before, had been ready to seduce someone into a dark corner and get her cock sucked.

Now she was very much not in the mood.

"The Fells? Isn’t that that family of awful religious zealots?" Anathema asked with a deep frown.

Crowley sighed and took a forlorn sip of her wine. There were a pair of men kissing in the corner and she wished she could have been kissing someone. Some anonymous man or woman who wouldn’t care tomorrow because this was not about romance whatsoever. That was the point of Tracy’s parties.

"That’s them," Crowley confirmed.

"Oh, that's not good," Newt said, setting down his drink. "Can't you say no?"

Crowley shook her head. "That's the whole deal. My parents want to make this stupid connection to _the right sort_ and they’ve decided I get to be their little pawn. They threatened to stop letting me use their ships. Do you know how much it costs to charter a ship? I'd be in debt after one run."

Anathema grimaced. “So you’re doing it then?”

“I have to,” Crowley groaned. “Married. Me. A fucking married man.”

“And sometimes woman,” Anathema teased, a welcome attempt to lighten the mood and even though it didn’t help, Crowley laughed.

“Would you still be married when you were a woman?” Newt pondered. “The vows don’t really cover that.”

“The vows don’t cover much of what goes on here,” Crowley said, looking over at Madam Tracy who trailed her finger over the rouged lips of a man Crowley _knew_ was married. Crowley wasn’t going to be able to do that. It might be ridiculous but the thought of continuing her promiscuous lifestyle behind her wife’s back made her stomach twist with guilt and she wasn’t even married yet. She would certainly miss it. Maybe, one day, they could come to an agreement. The type that so many husbands and wives had. Crowley wasn't holding out hope.

“So a bit of a break then?” Anathema asked. “From the usual?”

“A break from all of it,” Crowley admitted. She knew she had a reputation. Both as Miss Ashtoreth and Mr. Crowley. She liked what she liked and she came to these parties to enjoy herself. The sex wasn’t the only thing she came here for. In fact, it was mostly to be with people who didn’t care that she sometimes wanted to wear dresses, but a wife from a family who apparently touted the bible above all else would certainly not appreciate those habits.

“I suppose the dresses will have to be locked up for the foreseeable future,” she added glumly.

Anathema clucked her tongue. "Never thought I'd see the day you gave up skirts."

“I'll be back,” Crowley said firmly. “Hopefully this Aziraphale will be dull or, barring that, we can, I don’t know, come to some sort of an arrangement. And then it will be the same as before. It can be Miss Ashtoreth's second debut."

"I’ll look forward to seeing her again," Ana said, hooking her arm through Newt's and dragging him away from the table to the piano to play. Crowley leaned back in her chair and sipped at her wine.

Aziraphale Fell.

Maybe she really would be a simpleton and Crowley could get back to her life without her ever noticing a thing.

* * *

"But I don't want to get married," Aziraphale said.

Gabriel fixed her with a look that firmly said _do be quiet_. "You're not likely to get another offer at your age."

It had been a perfectly nice dinner—with a wonderful pheasant—and Aziraphale didn’t know why Gabriel had to ruin it.

"Aunt Charlotte never married," Aziraphale pointed out, ignoring the flash of hurt at Gabriel's words. Twenty-seven didn't feel old but for the last two years Aziraphale's dance card had been conspicuously empty and Gabriel was right, she was almost a spinster. In fact, she probably was one already.

"Yes, and that choice was the subject of gossip for ten years. The Fells are not the subject of gossip," Gabriel said firmly.

Aziraphale knew her brother loved her but sometimes when he got like this, it was difficult to remember.

"This is for your own good," Gabriel said, a little kinder. "The Crowleys have money and are coming up in the world. Anthony might not be graced with the best manners but an offer is an offer and we won't be refusing."

Aziraphale looked at her hands where they were folded in her lap. She had learned it was best to agree with her brother. Always agree and then she could leave and get on with something else that didn’t make her feel quite so small.

There had been offers before, when Aziraphale had first been introduced to society over a decade before, both from young men obviously interested in her family status, and those who fancied her.

None had been good enough for Gabriel.

The young men had been deemed too foolish, of too little importance, with too little money or connections, or, sometimes, simply not deferential enough to the young head of the Fell family. The offers had dried up before Aziraphale’s 20th birthday and now… well. The Crowleys were rich and the Fell family needed such an advantageous connection.

"Yes, Gabriel. You know best."

Perhaps it would be nice to live somewhere else. Somewhere without Gabriel. Though who knew what Aziraphale's new husband would be like. Possibly worse. Her stomach turned at the thought.

"We are organizing everything for the end of the month."

Aziraphale's nausea only grew. "Will I—will I get to meet him before the day?"

"I don't see the point," Gabriel said. "It won't change anything."

Aziraphale slumped in her chair. She supposed Gabriel was right.

Gabriel reached across the table and patted her hand. "This will be good for the family, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale nodded glumly.

"And sit up straight."

* * *

Crowley was going to throw up. The bloody lord of the Fell estate, a horrid man named Gabriel, had shown him to a guest room the night before and he hadn't even been able to meet his future wife. He'd meet her at the wedding breakfast and that would be that. No running screaming if she was covered in warts or had rotted teeth.

A terrible, awful, horrid situation. His family hadn't even bothered to come out to the church. Some comment about business. So it was just him in a sea of Fells, feeling rather like an ink splotch with red hair as he was shown to the breakfast table.

There were too many people to really try to pick one of them out and no one seemed to think it necessary to say, _oh, Mr. Crowley this is Aziraphale, your future wife_. So Crowley sat and picked at his boiled eggs until he heard that prick from the night before say, "Careful with the cocoa, Aziraphale, you'll get it on your dress."

Crowley looked up and his eyes caught on the woman across the table and two seats to the right. She wore a dress in a delicate light blue. It hardly looked like wedding finery, but perhaps it had some sort of flounce Crowley couldn't see. Her blonde hair was so light it was almost white and the curls were wild under an attempt to braid and pin them back. Crowley gaped. How had he not noticed her before? Her pink cheeks, her pretty mouth, the unique snub of her nose.

She set her cocoa down and her face turned red. Crowley wanted to snap at her brother for embarrassing her, but he didn't even know Aziraphale and it would probably embarrass her more. He didn’t want to come off as that sort of husband.

Aziraphale glanced at him and it became clear that between the two of them, she obviously knew who he was. He stared at her and she frowned, blush deepening.

The group disbanded before the walk to the church and when he saw Aziraphale again she was being walked to the altar by her prick of a brother. She had orchids in her hair, a unique enough flower that Crowley wondered if she'd like to see his greenhouse and quickly dismissed the idea. Aziraphale was a lady of good breeding and would probably think it a lowly pursuit.

Aziraphale would most likely look down on all of his hobbies. He tried not to think about the dresses already gathering dust in the trunk at the foot of his bed.

The vows passed quickly with little feeling and by the time they were in the carriage Crowley felt numb to the entire affair. Now for the three hour ride to his estate.

Excruciating.

Aziraphale sighed audibly across from him, drawing his attention. She really was a fetching creature. Voluptuous was probably the word. Like a sculpture out of a museum. Crowley could picture the way his hands would sink into her waist as they—

Oh no. He probably shouldn’t be thinking about that. Not that he _wouldn’t_ have sex with her if she wanted to. He’d slept with people he’d known less than his new wife but he wasn’t about to expect anything, tradition and expectations be damned. He doubted she was the sort to have already experimented, living under her brother’s thumb, probably with a bible beneath her pillow. Regardless, he could think she was nice to look at.

"I suppose it's nice to make your acquaintance," Aziraphale said primly, beginning to unpin the flowers from her hair.

"I suppose I could say the same," Crowley said warily. She seemed to be struggling with the pins and he warred with himself. Should he… "Let me help."

He reached out and ignored the very strong tug in his gut when their hands touched as he unpinned the first flower. He handed it to her. "These are nice."

"My brother bought them for me," she said, voice tight.

"They looked nice," Crowley said, not sure how else to compliment her. He didn’t want to seem rude, but he wasn’t very good at small talk. "I like your dress as well. Lovely color."

Maybe a bit too strange there. Too revealing. Did men usually compliment dresses? Crowley doubted they noticed them the way he did.

Aziraphale perked up. "Really? I wasn't sure if the blue was too much. My dressmaker wanted me to go with white since it's much more utilitarian but it was such a lovely fabric."

Crowley handed her the final flower and sat back in his seat. "It was a good choice. In my opinion."

"Well, thank you," Aziraphale said with a wavering smile. "Very kind of you."

Crowley grumbled at the compliment and looked out the window.

* * *

A terrible, awful, horrid wedding. Gabriel had barely paid for anything. Her family had gathered begrudgingly and there was very little fanfare. Aziraphale felt rather like she was being passed off to an unwilling new owner like cattle. Her stomach hurt every time she thought about it.

At least her new husband was her age. Other than that he seemed slightly cantankerous, frowning quite a bit, saying very little and marching from place to place at the Fell manor like hell itself was at his heels.

She found he was a bit skinny, tall. He had an unusual face, a sort of large hawkish nose that gave him character alongside a smattering of boyish freckles that complimented the red hair which was unfashionably long and pulled back at the nape of his neck.

Not the worst match really.

Mr. Crowley sighed and looked out the window, resting his check on one hand. His hands were very nice actually. Perhaps that was a strange thing to notice.

She looked at the flowers in her lap and tried to still the fluttering in her stomach. She knew what came next. This was a marriage. There were expectations afforded of such a thing especially of a wedding night. Aziraphale fidgeted in her seat. She had been preparing herself for it but with Mr. Crowley there across from her, knees close enough that she could feel the heat of them through her skirt, her stomach started to twist up in knots.

"My brother," Aziraphale began, unable to bear the silence in the carriage, "said you run your own business. What sort is it?"

Mr. Crowley glanced at her, his eyebrows darting up to his hairline before he replied, "It's not very interesting."

"It's probably a great deal more interesting than a silent carriage ride," Aziraphale said, a nervous laugh escaping with the words.

Crowley gave her a long unreadable look before taking a deep breath and saying, "I import wine and fruit from the Mediterranean. There's good money in it and it keeps me busy."

"Do you like it?"

Crowley shrugged. "Sometimes."

Aziraphale waited for Crowley to add more to his comment and when he didn't, she slumped in disappointment. Perhaps it would be a very boring carriage ride.

"And you?" Crowley asked though the words sounded forced. "What do you do to occupy your time?"

"Oh!" Aziraphale said, pleased at the unexpected question. "I enjoy reading quite a bit. I used to work with the clergyman on our estate, but I'm not sure that constitutes a hobby."

Crowley's mouth had tipped into a little crooked half smile that Aziraphale found oddly charming. "What else? Do you play the pianoforte? Embroider? Arrange flowers?"

He sounded like he was teasing her. She snorted and then slapped her hand over her mouth, embarrassed. "I am so sorry."

Crowley looked delighted at the sound. "I take that as a no then?"

Aziraphale fiddled with the orchids in her lap, still smiling. "I play the piano but not very well. As for the others, I'm not very skilled."

Crowley tipped his head against the rocking wall of the carriage. "Well, I have an instrument. And a library. Though it's not extensive. You're welcome to both. And the rest of the house actually."

Aziraphale blinked at that. A whole new library. She'd run her old one ragged and Gabriel had only allowed her to bring a handful of her favorite tomes along, citing her obsession with reading as not very ladylike and that she’d be too busy running her new household to have her nose stuck in a book.

"Oh, that would be lovely," she said earnestly.

Crowley's freckled cheeks turned slightly red.

The rest of the trip passed in alternating fits of tense silence and short exchanges of small talk. Aziraphale tried to be friendly, she really did, but Mr. Crowley seemed to have the disposition of a scrawny thundercloud and aside from a few moments of barked laughter and that one handsome grin, he avoided overt expression of feeling.

The tension in Aziraphale's belly only mounted as they rolled to a stop in front of what could only be Mr. Crowley's country manor. It was a stately thing, not as ornate or lavish as what Aziraphale had been used to but large enough that she was certain there would be a good sized drawing room alongside the erstwhile library. Probably a good number of guest rooms as well. It was the grounds that really grabbed her attention though. She thought she spied a folly off in the garden in the distance alongside a very nice meandering walk.

The hired footmen gathered her things to take inside while Mr. Crowley dusted off his coat.

"Would you like the tour?" Crowley looked off into the distance as if he didn't care whatsoever if Aziraphale said yes.

Aziraphale felt that might be a bit of an act.

"A tour would be lovely," she said solicitously as she could manage despite her nerves. "It's always nice to stretch your legs after a carriage ride."

"Right," Crowley said with a sniff as he looked off, his eyes flickering and his lips twisting just so.

Aziraphale wrung her hands. Was he rude or nervous? She was certainly nervous as she trailed her husband into her new home.

It wasn't some lavish thing. No paintings gracing the walls or frescoes or the like but the furniture was nice and she liked the drapes she spied in the sitting room to her right as she passed through the hall. Crowley walked past the stairs and led her to the back of the house.

"You said you liked to read. This is the library," he said, pushing open the door at the far end of the entry hall. It opened into a decently sized room with a bay window. Axiraphale gasped at the sight of floor to ceiling bookshelves. They were barely a quarter full but the room held such promise.

"Make whatever changes you'd like. I don't spend much time in here."

Aziraphale itched to go inside and explore all the titles Mr. Crowley owned but he was already striding away across the hall. She closed the door with a wistful glance and followed after.

"Here is the drawing room," Crowley said. "For when I...entertain."

He cleared his throat and glanced around the room like he was assessing it for the first time.

"Pianoforte," he said with a lazy gesture at the instrument. "Window has a view of the gardens and the greenhouse."

"You have a greenhouse?" Aziraphale said, bustling to the window to take a peek. Sure enough a glass structure rose in the distance, striking and beautiful. "Do you have a gardener?"

Crowlys cheeks pinked. "Um...no. I...I tend to it."

Aziraphale brightened. "Oh, that's fascinating. I was good friends with our gardener back home. He taught me about perennials. And slug repellant. Perhaps you could teach me more?"

Crowley made a noise that might have been a laugh and then cleared his throat. "Right. How about the dining room and then I can show you your room?"

Aziraphale felt a stab of disappointment. She supposed she should have known they would have separate bedrooms but it rankled that he hadn't asked, that he'd just shunted her off into a different room.

The rest of the tour was lovely, the upstairs just as well appointed as the ground floor and Mr. Crowley explained how he kept few servants.

“Twice weekly cleanings, Cook is here too from time to time, and I keep up the rest,” he said. “I prefer to keep my own schedule and don’t like having people underfoot.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how she would handle so few servants. Gabriel had always hired on so many, but there had been a few days where she had been forced to manage on her own when some ball was being planned and all the servants were busy and she was forgotten. It would be fine, she thought. She hoped. She didn’t want her husband thinking her a failure already.

Crowley left her to her own devices after showing her to her room. It was connected to his so at least she wasn't cordoned off in some tower like a shameful bride.

She sighed and sat on her bed. It was lovely and perhaps even better than the one at home. Its polished wooden posts gleamed on each corner and the linens were a beautiful cream that matched the drapes hanging in the windows. Her trunk was settled at the foot of the bed, ready for her to unpack. This was her new home. She supposed she should adjust to that idea.

Aziraphale flopped onto her back on the soft and stared at the ceiling as the afternoon shadows grew long. It was a lovely home she was to be mistress of. Mr. Crowley did not seem awful. He was just a man. Perhaps awkward. Perhaps rude with strange habits. But they had shared a few laughs. That was promising.

Now she just had to face the wedding night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RUBBER HITS THE ROAAAD
> 
> The illustration in this chapter is NSFW so take that into account before opening this in front of your family or co-workers.
> 
> I earn my rating and the awkward sex tag. Please enjoy.

Dinner with his new wife was tense. Crowley didn’t want to be overly revealing. He typically spoke of business to his acquaintances and when he wasn’t speaking of business matters, it was to people who knew his proclivities. With Aziraphale, he found himself worried he would reveal something incriminating. He had been so certain he’d be able to hide that part of his life from his new spouse, but it would take getting used to. There was no possible way he would be comfortable enough to just _chat._

For her part, Aziraphale seemed nervous, picking at her supper of cold meats and bread. She had changed into a pretty yellow dress that Crowley would have complimented if two dress compliments in one day might not have been too much. She sipped at her wine and commented on the quality of everything. Her words were the sort that made Crowley think she had been practicing for such a moment. He’d feel bad for her if her measured words didn’t keep him from having to make conversation.

When it was finally over and they made their way upstairs, Crowley bade her goodnight, but she stood still outside his door, eyes darting to the side, obviously waiting for something.

“Unless you’d like to come inside,” Crowley offered. His stomach fluttered when she ducked her head in agreement. It was the last thing he’d expected after their tense dinner.

She slipped into his room, hands held in front of her, fingers laced tight together. He had the strangest urge to take them in his, to soothe her at least slightly. He was no good at that though. He’d lost his own virginity to another boy when he was seventeen; they were both inexperienced, but their excitement had outweighed their nerves. After that, none of his partners had been virgins. Or told him that they had been.

Aziraphale was projecting her level of inexperience very clearly.

People in his circle liked to tease him. They liked to say Miss Ashtoreth was so seductive, she could get anyone into bed. That might have been overselling it a bit.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, going to light a candle on the vanity as she drew closer to the bed. He was more than willing to sleep with his new wife, but he was hardly interested if she was going to force herself into it.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said with a high-pitched laugh. She whirled around to face him and even in the dark, Crowley could see her blush. In the moonlight, her light blonde hair glowed white, a sort of ethereal halo. “If we’re to do this, perhaps you could help me undress?”

Crowley cleared his suddenly dry throat. His wife was full of surprises. “Of course.”

Her eyes tracked him as he moved. He could feel them, delicate as the touch of a hand. Slipping behind her, he paused before touching her. He wanted her permission, her consent. That seemed important in a situation like this.

“Thank you,” she said, letting her head tip forward to expose her neck. “That’s very kind.”

“What are husbands for?” he said, trying to add some levity to the situation but knowing he failed as a thick tension descended between them. He lifted his hands and touched the buttons at the top of her spine. When she stayed silent, he began to undo them.

* * *

Mr. Crowley's fingers danced over her back, undoing her dress. Each tug of the buttons releasing made her breath come faster as the sensitive skin between her shoulder blades tingled with the sensation. No one but her maid had ever touched her there and Crowley's hands were different. Larger. Firm.

"We don't have to…"

"No," Aziraphale said without hesitation as she turned around to face him. She’d prepared for this. She knew what was coming. "I want to. I do."

Crowley frowned. It reminded her that she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what a frown from him meant.

"Right," he said and he shrugged off his coat.

The man was slim of build, shoulders slightly broader than Aziraphale had expected. He tugged open his cravat with practiced fingers and tossed it onto the dressing table.

Without it, his shirt gaped open and Aziraphale could see the pale skin of his throat. A few golden red hairs crept up the collar and caught in the candlelight.

"I’m going to… uh, to kiss you," Mr. Crowley said, drawing closer and lifting his hand as if to touch her face.

"Oh, I—I haven’t kissed very many people," Aziraphale said, stepping back on instinct. Her knees hit the edge of the bed behind her and she let out a startled sound. Her dress gaped open in the back, falling down her shoulders and making her feel vulnerable despite her shift and stays which did enough to cover her body.

Mr. Crowley's gaze grew dark. "Are you afraid of me?"

Aziraphale took a deep breath and shook her head. "No. I swear I’m not."

He looked so doubtful that she had to do something. Stepping forward as her dress pooled at her feet, she surged up to kiss Crowley directly on the mouth. He squeaked in surprise and their teeth knocked. The zing of pain made Aziraphale frown and pull away.

"Warn me next time," Crowley said, rubbing his mouth.

Cheeks heating, Aziraphale looked at the ground. This was awful.

But then Crowley ducked his head and caught her mouth, this time softer. Their noses bumped gently. It grounded Aziraphale as she was surrounded by the clean smell of Crowley, the sweet taste of the port they had shared after dinner. It was strange the way the touch of lips could thrill her, sending warm pulses of arousal through her body, but it did. Her stomach warmed and she fisted her hands in Crowley’s shirt. He made a soft, pleased noise and that was even better.

"Turn around," he said. His voice was low and that did something to her insides too, another dip of her stomach that made her thighs shake. "I'll take off your stays."

Once more, Aziraphale turned away, heart racing. She was acutely aware of her mouth. She had been kissed once before nearly ten years ago by an overzealous suitor, but that was nothing like this. Crowley kissed with intent.

When she turned back around and his hands knocked into hers as he helped her peel her stays over her head, she once more regarded Mr. Crowley in the candlelight. Her husband was handsome. He was. Perhaps somewhat unconventionally so with his longer hair and his sharp countenance, but even Aziraphale knew that the heat building inside her was attraction.

For the first time since Gabriel had told her she was to wed, she felt lucky.

Mr. Crowley kissed her again, somewhat hesitant and began to unpin her hair, and then his tongue touched her mouth and it should have been disgusting, but it sent a hard wave of heat between her legs and she made an embarrassing noise.

Hands came to rest on her waist and bear her back against the bed. Their knees jostled and Crowley's leg caught on her shift as they tumbled onto the mattress, doing their best not to knock into each other. Mr. Crowley grunted in discomfort as they separated, and he urged her up onto the pillows. Aziraphale was struck by the fact that she didn't know this man whatsoever and yet she was about to let him into her body. More than that, she wanted to.

Crowley pulled his shirt over his head and Aziraphale caught sight of a swath of red chest hair before he kissed her again and hiked up her shift, pushing his hand between her legs.

"What are you doing?" she asked, clamping her thighs together. She'd expected him to do what she had read about which had involved his penis going inside her and had nothing whatsoever to do with his hand, and yes, she had explored the area with her own fingers, but why he would want to do that made very little sense.

"Getting you ready," Crowley said, hand resting on her thigh. Just the heat of his touch was making her stomach clench. "This’ll be better if you let me."

She tried to relax against the pillows, but it was so odd to have this stranger’s hand between her legs even if it did feel sort of nice as his fingers pet her thighs gently, his other hand tugging her shift down to expose one of her breasts to the cool air.

Instinctively, she tried to cover it, but Crowley had already taken her nipple into his mouth. The sensation made Aziraphale kick against the bed, foot knocking into Crowley's shin. He grunted in pain but didn’t stop and then his fingers pet the crux of her thighs and spread her open.

Mr. Crowley made a noise that Aziraphale tried to ignore. Perhaps he was disgusted with how wet she was. From what she understood this was a normal physical reaction but perhaps he preferred it less damp. She certainly didn’t like touching moist things.

He stroked her carefully as he kissed her chest, and she bit her lip so as not to make any sounds that would be too embarrassing. She wanted to shout and whimper and clutch at Crowley. His hand was doing marvelous things that made her feel like she would shatter and be thankful for it.

* * *

Touching Aziraphale was nigh on unbearable. Crowley buried his face in her warm chest as she heaved in shuddering breaths. Her cunt was so hot. So wet. Maybe, despite the awkwardness of the whole thing, he was doing something right.

He wanted to take off her shift, but he was afraid to overstep. This wasn't him taking some bloke home after a party or fumbling his hands up the skirt of some girl. Aziraphale was a proper lady. She barely made a sound lying beneath him, biting her lip, hand tossed over her face as her hips hitched against his fingers.

She was wet though. Gloriously wet.

He pushed his middle finger inside her and was rewarded by a sharp gasp and then a moan as he withdrew. Careful then. He pushed back inside and relished the heat of her against his hand.

His cock was hard in his trousers and he supposed that was rather the point. Aziraphale had said she wanted this. She had kissed him with abandon and despite the way she bit her lip, she was enjoying herself, Crowley was sure of it. There was always a bit of awkwardness in having sex with a stranger, but if Crowley was honest, this might be one of his better experiences. For some reason, this didn’t just feel like a means to an end, a mutual relief. Maybe this was the beginning of something. They were married now. They could do this again. And if this was just the first time, it spoke of a potential compatibility that Crowley hadn’t dared hope for. Aziraphale’s body was so responsive and if he could get her off with his hand, he'd be very proud indeed.

He pulled his fingers away and pet her cunt, enjoying the bucking of her hips into his hand before thumbing her clit in delicate circles. Aziraphale bit back another cry and arched her back as he pushed back into her. Curling his fingers, he scissored her open gently. stretching her so when he fucked her properly it wouldn't hurt.

But as he worked her over, he began to question himself. Why was she being so quiet? The slick heat of her was enough to keep him hard. But the silence was starting to get to him. Her refusal to look at him seemed so impersonal.

He rose up on his knees and braced one hand one the ample flesh of her hip.

"Aziraphale," he said quietly, hand still working between her legs. "Can you look at me?"

A moan escaped between her clenched teeth and she shook her head violently. Crowley ignored the sharp spike of disappointment it caused and did his best to get her off before he fucked her.

* * *

"Can you look at me?"

Aziraphale shook her head

If she looked at him, she was going to explode. Dear lord, what sorcery was Crowley weaving between her legs? She wanted to push closer. She wanted to pull away. She was so close to something. It had to be the elusive peak she had read about. The climax.

Crowley pressed something inside her and rubbed her just right and her hips nearly shot off the bed as she cried out, a wave of pleasure washing over her. She knew it had been coming and yet she hadn't known it would be so intense and she shook through it. As the sensation dissipated in rolling eddies, a delicious ache took up residence between her legs as Crowley took his hand away.

She opened her eyes and she had been right. Looking at Mr. Crowley made something in her stomach go sideways. His cheeks were red, his lips bitten.

He looked her in the eye, and she thought she might faint. "Do you want to keep going?" he asked.

She nodded.

Crowley pulled away for a brief moment just to take off his trousers. She caught a glimpse of something between his legs. She knew about penises and genitals; she’d snuck looks at the anatomy diagrams, but she'd hoped to get a better look. Before she could, Mr. Crowley was between her legs again, pushing her thighs apart and nestling his slim hips between them.

For a long, inscrutable moment, Crowley looked at her and didn't move but then he shook his head.

"I'll stop if you say stop. Just...don’t...don’t put up with it because you think you have to do this."

 _But I do have to do this_ , Aziraphale didn't say. "No. I want to. It’s alright."

Which was also true. After her climax, she was aching again. She was certain Crowley being inside her might feel a bit like relief.

Then Crowley was pushing inside, and it was like nothing she had experienced before, a blunt ache that rode the edge of pleasure and pain before tipping swiftly into ecstasy. She moaned and pushed up into Crowley without thinking before stopping herself.

Oh, dear. Ladies didn't do that. She shouldn't.

Crowley's hips began to move, a steady thrusting that sent frissons of pleasure up Aziraphale's spine.

She clutched at the linens and tried not to cry out. This was good. A different sort of good than his fingers. She didn't feel close to a peak, but the sensations were so overwhelming she didn't care.

Crowley dropped onto his elbows and the angle changed just so, forcing a sound from her lungs. He huffed against her neck which was a bit uncomfortable if she was being honest, hot and damp and too intimate for a stranger, but it didn't matter. She had to move.

Throwing the remnants of her propriety out the window, she tossed her arms around his neck and hitched her hips up into his in time with his movements. It was most likely messy and unpracticed, but it felt right and good and she didn't want to stop.

Mr. Crowley swore and pushed off her. "Sorry, shit."

Aziraphale released him when he tried to pull away. He came into his own hand and she was slightly disappointed that it ended just as it was getting so good.

Mr. Crowley crawled out of bed and cleaned himself at the wash basin, not looking at her. She took the opportunity to realign her shift. Her bosom was still out and she’d quite forgotten in the activity.

"Well, I'm glad we got that over with. One duty of our marriage done. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be," she said, regretting the words as soon as she spoke them. She had meant them in camaraderie, that she was glad they had taken the plunge and not waited for things to grow awkward between them, but Mr. Crowley had dropped the towel in his hand. He looked stricken.

"Right," he said. "Me as well. Breakfast is usually whatever I can scrounge up so there's no set time in the morning. I presume you can find your way to your bedroom."

Then he tossed her clothes at her without another word, leaving her to awkwardly leave between the connecting door. Her legs wobbled and she still felt slightly pleasure drunk even as the latch clicked shut behind her.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but she’d bollocksed that right up.

* * *

Aziraphale didn't see Mr. Crowley for over a week. Not at mealtimes, not at night. She’d secretly hoped he’d at least come to her again for sex but no.

He was set on avoiding her entirely. She had thought the actual event of the wedding night had gone well even if she had put her foot in it towards the end. Crowley had done the orgasming thing exactly as she had read about, and she was fairly certain she had as well and if she hadn't, something marvelous had happened between her legs. Those were all good things. Successful things!

And yet Crowley did not come to her again. Perhaps he thought she wasn't interested in trying again.

It was her own fault for not being specific. That was what Gabriel always said. If only she could say exactly what she wanted.

Though, nice ladies didn't exactly go up to their husbands and say _I want you to do that wonderful thing with your hand again and perhaps teach me how to do it because I've been trying and it's not as good._

She didn’t want to admit to herself that she had awfully rude.

Instead, Aziraphale took to the library to catalogue Crowley's books. It wasn't a difficult task, but it would take some time. Aziraphale made a note to begin saving her allowance to fill the shelves. They looked so sad only half-filled and she had so many books she wanted to purchase. Replacements from her old collections, things she’d always wanted that Gabriel had said were inappropriate. Aziraphale had a feeling Crowley wouldn’t care whatsoever. Eventually, she would talk to Crowley and she would begin her wifely duties of managing the house, perhaps planning dinners and corresponding with neighbors and other acquaintances. She just needed Mr. Crowley to stop avoiding her and _tell her what to do_.

On the very first day, when Aziraphale rang for tea it became clear that when Mr. Crowley said he kept few servants, he meant it. So Aziraphale learned to make her own tea. Which was rather exciting because she could put as much jam and cream as she wanted onto her scones with no one to scold her. And when she squirrelled away six scones into the library with a small jar of curd, there was no Gabriel to cluck his tongue at her about expanding waistline.

She was married now, and her husband was apparently uninterested in her, so she didn't have to worry about maintaining anything. She could have cake and cream every day and sod Crowley to hell and back when her buttocks no longer fit in her skirts.

Having no servants about on the day-to-day meant Aziraphale had to adjust to dressing by herself and making sure she had candles ready for the evenings and washing water in the basin for the mornings.

Apparently, Mr. Crowley did have people come occasionally, but Aziraphale could find no rhyme or reason to it. On her first Thursday at the house, she walked into her bedroom in the afternoon and found a young lady changing her linens. The girl greeted her politely and finished her work before scurrying off. One evening she went into the kitchen and found a roasted chicken and potatoes growing cold on the worktop which had certainly not been there that morning.

How did Crowley pay these people? What was their schedule? Was Aziraphale supposed to manage them now in the apparent absence of a butler? Was there some erstwhile housekeeper that didn't live on the estate? That hardly made sense but Mr. Crowley it seemed was a very strange person.

It was the second Monday of her new life at Mr. Crowley's estate and Aziraphale was halfway through a very delicious scone—maybe she should ask Crowley about the cook so she could send her regards and a few requests—when she heard the door slam open. She stuffed the rest of the scone in her mouth without thinking and slammed her book shut, scurrying to her feet and out into the hall.

It was Crowley and in the ten days since Aziraphale had seen him, she had forgotten exactly what he looked like. In her mind's eye she had let him grow taller, broader, more hawkish about the face.

But no. He was only a head taller than her and still remarkably thin. His expression was intimidating, but he wasn't the frightening figure she had let him become in her mind.

"Mr. Crowley, are you quite alright?" Aziraphale asked.

It had been raining all day and the man's clothes were soaked through. He tore off his sopping jacket and pushed his slick hair back from his face.

"I’m fine," he snapped.

"You're getting mud in the foyer," Aziraphale pointed out for lack of anything better.

Crowley groaned and tugged off his boots before trudging upstairs.

Aziraphale hesitated before going into the kitchen and putting together a plate of food and some tea. Perhaps it would help his mood and they could talk about Aziraphale's responsibilities around the house.

Aziraphale followed him upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door, only going inside after receiving a barked come in.

"I brought you some tea, Mr. Crowley," she offered, setting down the plate and cup and trying not to think about the activities they’d partaken in the last time she'd been in this particular room.

Crowley looked up at her. He was dressed down to his shirtsleeves but he looked mostly dry. "Thank you."

"I was…" She cleared her throat. "I was wondering what sort of household management you'd like me to take over now that I'm here."

It was the first time she had seen Mr. Crowley in days and she desperately needed direction. If Gabriel were here, he would be calling her a layabout. She needed to start doing her wifely duties and if Crowley wasn’t going to take advantage of the marriage bed then Aziraphale needed to be useful in some other way.

Crowley frowned and picked at some of the cold meats Aziraphale had brought. "The household’s managed. You don't need to do anything."

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped. "But…"

"I'm going to London this weekend," he said without waiting for her to speak.

London! That perhaps would mean something. An activity. An opportunity to mingle and prove she could perform admirably as a wife. "Oh, should I pack my things?"

"Why would you pack your things?" Crowley asked as his frown grew even deeper. Aziraphale had no idea how he even did that, frowning so hard his mouth formed an upside-down U.

Discouraged and frustrated, Aziraphale bit her lip. "Right. Of course. Have a good trip, Mr. Crowley."

She turned to go but he stopped her by asking, "Is there anything you want? From town?"

If he'd even bothered to tell her he was going or waited to take her, perhaps she could have made up a list or prepared something but put on the spot like that, she came up blank.

"No, thank you Mr. Crowley," she said primly before taking herself back to the library.

If Crowley had nothing to ask of her yet, she could occupy herself there.

* * *

Crowley dropped his bag in the pathetic set of rooms he kept in London and collapsed in the chair by the unlit fire. He kept thinking about the look on Aziraphale's face when he’d told her she didn't need to come with him. So disappointed.

But what was she going to come to? A one bedroom apartment with no cleaning service and little to recommend it?

Crowley's mother always reprimanded him for using the place, but it was cheap, and he was in town too rarely to need real lodgings. Imagining Aziraphale with all her fine, delicate clothes and her pretty hair in this dusty place was laughable. Not even touching on the fact that there was only one bedroom.

Crowley certainly would not think on that.

Nearly a fortnight since their wedding and their mostly successful wedding night and Aziraphale's cold summation of the event. _Not nearly as bad as I thought it would be._ Fuck, every time he thought about it, his stomach hurt. It didn't help that Crowley had felt a bit hopeful during the proceedings that their relationship might be good, that they might be compatible. It had been better than a few of his back-bedroom tumbles.

Kicking her out hadn’t been his most ingenious move. And when dawn came, he couldn't bear the thought of looking at her and hearing her say something about their marriage and their duty or even worse, Crowley's behavior afterwards. So, Crowley took himself off to the greenhouse and got his hands dirty.

In the face of failure, practical progress always felt good. And there was nothing more practical than weeding.

But one day of weeding turned into two and Crowley kept thinking there was no possible way Aziraphale was going to want to talk to him after he had kicked her out of bed and he was an absolute arsehole who needed to apologize but he wasn't going to because he was bad at apologizing and besides he had actual work to do and maybe it was good. He didn’t want to know his wife. He wanted things to go back to how they were before they were married so he could have his life back. Maybe distance was good.

Which was how he ended up balancing his ledgers on the floor of the greenhouse for fear of staying in his study and being found by his wife.

She needed time to adjust to the house without him underfoot, he reasoned to himself.

She probably didn’t want to look at his stupid face after what he had done.

The crux of the thing was that he had liked sleeping with Aziraphale and she had probably liked it too and he didn't want to have to tie himself up in knots feeling guilty for sleeping with his wife when she asked him to.

What he wouldn't give for one of Tracy's parties, a chance to get out of these clothes and be himself and not think about pretty blonde hair and sharp, changeable hazel eyes.

And that’s why he had gone to London. To get away for a moment and to get some actual work done

He had to meet his accountant and plan for the next runner to Spain. Then he’d get drunk with impunity before it was back home with him.

He needed to pull himself together. If only Aziraphale had said she needed something, then Crowley wouldn't be returning empty handed. He could return with a gift. A gift that said _I’m sorry I was an arse. I no longer want to feel so guilty that I hide myself in my greenhouse._

There was probably some gift that said that. Approximately.

Crowley changed his jacket and set out. His accountant would hardly want to wait and then maybe he could stop and see Newt. The man was always buying Anathema gifts and she seemed to enjoy them enough. Perhaps he would have some advice.

* * *

Aziraphale had been bored before Crowley left for London and now that he was gone, things were interminable. What was she supposed to do? Rearrange the library again? There were less than 200 books in all, and Crowley didn’t want her managing the house. She hadn’t been given any money or direction. There was nothing to plan or do so she took to the grounds which she hadn’t seen except for the short gesture Crowley had given her outside the window.

She wanted to see the greenhouse and with Crowley gone who was going to stop her?

At least the weather was fine so she was assuring her husband had a fine day for riding to the city and she was able to go about the grounds in the sun. Gabriel would have gotten after her to use a parasol but Gabriel wasn’t here so she could do whatever she wanted and what she wanted was to feel the sun on her cheeks as she ate a pear and marched through the field.

The grounds were lovely, as lovely as they had seemed through the window and with Mr. Crowley’s attitude towards her so far, she doubted he’d mind if she went on walks. She doubted he'd mind if she lit herself on fire.

Perhaps she’d be able to bring a book out. Or perhaps a picnic. Maybe while Crowley was away she’d finally track down the erstwhile cook to make some requests and also send her compliments for the scones.

The greenhouse itself towered over the hedges and Aziraphale wondered if Crowley paid someone to clean the glass and to trim the hedges. He worked so he certainly didn’t have the time to keep all this up if he also gardened.

Pushing in through the door, Aziraphale was hit by a wave of damp warmth and gasped at the sight of all the flowers. Orchids and peonies and blooms she couldn’t name were scattered over the surfaces. She thought she spied tomatoes and herbs. The building wasn’t full of plants, but the handful of worktables were covered in dirt and pots and greenery.

Aziraphale took a step forward and paused when something crinkled under her foot. She lifted her skirt. Pages were strewn across the floor. She knelt to pick up the one she had stepped on and immediately marked it as a ledger of some sort. She picked up a few more and noted some correspondence to and from Mr. Crowley. Was Crowley working in the greenhouse? Did he always work in the greenhouse?

Aziraphale put a hand to her forehead. Did her husband want to avoid her so much that he was doing work on the dirty floor of the greenhouse so he wouldn't be in the house?

Aziraphale stood and put her shoulders back. This absolutely would not stand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the fic is entirely written! Which means weekly updates. HOWEVER I do reserve the right to do biweekly if things come up. I don't foresee that since I have a bunch of time off for the upcoming holidays and will be swimming in edits.

“Do you think you’ll be going to Warlock’s party next weekend?” Newt asked over their third shared whiskey.

Crowley had come to visit with the express purpose of asking for Newt’s advice and they had shared a small meal before retiring to his study. While the other man was not nearly as wealthy as Crowley, he kept a neat house and his alcohol was always well-stocked.

Crowley shook his head to answer Newt’s question. It was a fair one. He normally wouldn’t miss a party. “Not possible. That one is what? A two day affair? Aziraphale would be far too curious. She asked questions about this London business. I need to settle first. It’s been less than a month.”

Newt frowned, clearly disappointed. “Ana and I were looking forward to it. You know Warlock always has the best parties.”

“Well…” Crowley said, tipping his glass in a gesture of polite disagreement. Newt knew his preferences.

“Yes, Tracy does quite well,” Newt acknowledged, flustered.

Crowley laughed. “I know you don’t like them, but I have never left one of Tracy’s weekends unsatisfied. Though, I suppose, now with Aziraphale...I’ll have to find a different way to enjoy myself.”

Newt shifted in his seat. Conversations about sex made him so flustered. Yet another thing that made his coupling with Anathema quite strange. Though they suited each other in their own way.

Newt adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat, keen to change the subject. "So you came by because you need advice."

"Yes, I...er..." Crowley said before taking another drink of whiskey. He was glad they’d already shared a few drinks to make this conversation less uncomfortable. Since when did he need to come to _Newton Pulsifer_ for advice?

"Insulted your wife in the bedroom,” Newt finished for him.

"I already said that."

Newt put his hands up in surrender. "Just confirming."

Crowley growled and he let his head drop against the back of the chair. The fire crackled in the background in a manner that Crowley thought was distinctly accusatory. "She was rude first."

"But you feel bad about it," Newt tried to clarify.

"No," Crowley lied. He hated talking about this sort of thing. He should have stayed at his flat and slept.

"Alright," Newt said, clearly not believing him. "But you want to get her a gift to smooth things over?"

"Yes."

"Hm."

"Anathema always seems to like what you buy her," Crowley pointed out.

Newt blushed and looked at the glass in his lap. "Do—does she?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "You should ask for her hand already. You two are ridiculous."

"Ana doesnt want to get married," Newt said plaintively. "You know that. Everybody knows that."

Crowley grunted. It was a fair stance, not wanting to get married. "I think she knows you're the last person to take away her freedoms. Besides, you're already sleeping together and you live in each other’s pockets, you might as well."

"Let's talk about gifts," Newt said, his voice cracking as he lurched to his feet and paced about the room. "She comes from a fairly traditional family, correct?"

Crowley nodded and finished his whiskey. Newt collected the glass to refill it.

"Maybe something like a bible?"

Crowley hissed in distaste. Aziraphale might be religious, but he wasn’t. He didn’t exactly want to encourage nightly readings or weekly church attendance. She could certainly do whatever she liked, but he wouldn’t get dragged into it.

"No to that then," Newt said with a sharp nod as he returned Crowley’s glass. "What about a homemaker’s guide or some such?"

"She does like books," Crowley said. He sipped at the whiskey and stared at the wall, turning the option over in his mind. The floral wallpaper offered no confirmation, but he hoped he had enough sense to make the decision himself. It sounded like a traditional gift, an invitation for Aziraphale to get comfortable in his home.

"Then it's perfect!" Newt declared, dropping back into his chair, satisfied.

Crowley considered that as he sank lower into his own seat. He would stop at some book shop before heading home the next day and pick something up, maybe scribble a short note and be done with it and then he wouldn't have to be afraid of being in his own home.

"So how was the sex?"

Crowley spit whiskey back into his tumbler. "What?"

Newt for all his bumbling and nervousness could be so terribly direct. "You said you slept together on your wedding night. Was it awful?"

Awful was not the word Crowley would use. Since his first experience all those years ago, he’d had a fair amount of sex and it had varied in quality. His time with Aziraphale had been...

"I just mean you hardly know each other,” Newt continued, unaware of Crowley’s crisis, “and if she'd never married and she's _twenty-seven_ she can’t be that much of a beauty—"

"She's lovely," Crowley snapped, stomach hot and tongue loose from the three glasses of whiskey they had shared.

Newt’s eyes went wide, a bit surprised. "Really? Lovely? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before."

"She has nice hair, alright?" Crowley said, bristling under Newt's sharpening gaze. Sometimes he was far too much like Anathema. Too perceptive and interfering. He would probably gossip with her after this as well and then Crowley would really be in for it.

"Nice hair," Newt repeated, voice flat. He looked like he was fighting down a smile and Crowley very much did _not_ like that.

"It's all...blonde and curly. And soft," Crowley said, aware he was rambling. Bloody whiskey making him too damn honest. "What of it? People can have nice hair!"

"They certainly can."

Crowley sipped at his drink and redirected his attention to the fire in the hearth. He didn’t want to talk about Aziraphale any more.

* * *

Crowley stared into the shop window and tried to talk himself out of it. All he could think about was Aziraphale's arsehole brother telling her off for drinking her chocolate at the wedding breakfast. She had clearly been enjoying it until he snapped at her.

He already had the decided-upon book tucked under his arm, neatly tied up in paper and twine, but the window displayed all sorts of confections and decently priced chocolate. It was still obscenely expensive but would it be worth it for something he _knew_ Aziraphale liked. The book was a gamble. Chocolate would be a certain success.

One of Crowley's worst habits was his tendency to overthink. When he was younger, his father would chide him for having a woman’s nerves so he had gotten much better at hiding it. Unfortunately, hiding it didn't mean it had stopped and when he was nervous, he typically overthought every decision and ended up overcompensating.

In this case, he bought a pound of chocolate and the whole way home pretended he hadn't.

But he _knew_ Aziraphale would like it. He had seen her drink it, smiling the whole time until her brother had snuffed out her joy. He wasn't going to be a good husband, but he wanted her to have things she liked. He wanted her to have a good and happy life in his house. If that meant drinking chocolate and thousands of books and more orchids for her hair then she would have them.

No more throwing dresses at her and kicking her out of his bedroom.

Probably no more having her in his bedroom at all actually. It seemed like a bad idea even if the idea occasionally crossed his mind as he got ready for bed and he thought about how soft the skin of her thighs was and…

No. That way madness lie. She was all about _duty._ Crowley wasn’t going to sleep with someone who was doing it because they felt they had to.

Besides, making Aziraphale happy, buying her gifts and getting her settled, meant she would get comfortable. Once she was comfortable, Crowley could hopefully get back to his own life. The one that he’d worked so hard to discover himself and that had finally made him happy.

* * *

Aziraphale was busy reading a book about bovine husbandry (Mr. Crowley owned the strangest books. Where were the novels? Not that she _wouldn’t_ read about bovine husbandry but it certainly wasn’t her preference.) when she heard her name called from the foyer. Surprised, she dropped the book to the floor and scurried to pick it up.

The only person who could possibly be calling her was Crowley and she hadn't expected him to be home so soon. Perhaps he hadn't wanted her to go to London with him because it was set to be a short trip. He could have at least explained, Aziraphale thought with some perturbation as she swiped crumbs from her dress. She'd been at the scones for breakfast but Mr. Crowley did not need to know.

Setting her book down on her chair, she bustled out into the hall and ran directly into her husband. He let out a startled grunt and fumbled the packages he had in his hands. Aziraphale caught one of them and he managed to keep a grip on the other.

"Good afternoon," Crowley said when they both straightened.

Aziraphale stifled a laugh. He looked so awkward. He was trying so hard to be polite, but his hair was a mess from the trip and he hadn’t even changed out of his riding clothes. Every time she saw him anew, she thought she spied some new strange angle of his body. This time his shoulders seemed particularly broad, particularly square in his black jacket, even as he twisted them strangely in a sort of nonchalant pose.

"Welcome back, Mr. Crowley. How was your trip?" she replied politely, stuffing down her laughter.

"Wonderfully short," he said and Aziraphale made the mistake of glancing at his mouth as he spoke. She was struck by the memory of what that mouth felt like against hers and her face flamed. Maybe it was good he had been hiding from her in the greenhouse if she was going to blush every time she so much as looked at him.

She probably still needed to confront him about the greenhouse. He needn't hide from her.

"I got you that," Crowley said, gesturing at the package in Aziraphale's hand.

She started and looked at the wrapped box, unable to conceal her surprise. All of Crowley’s hiding and terse words and he had brought her something from London without being asked? "You bought me something?"

Crowley cleared his throat and glanced out the window in the hall. He shrugged one shoulder. "It was no trouble."

Aziraphale carefully undid the knot in the ribbon wrapped around the package and let it fall to the sides. The last present she had received had been a new bible for her birthday from Gabriel. It had been a nice bible but it wasn't particularly exciting. Or meaningful.

Opening the box inside the lovely printed paper, she gasped and looked back up at Crowley with wide eyes. "Chocolate."

Crowley finally met her gaze and a hesitant smile appeared on his face like the sun coming up on a cold winter day. "You had drinking chocolate. At the wedding breakfast. I thought you might—"

"Oh, I love it," Aziraphale said. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, relief and gratitude coming together to overwhelm her. Mr. Crowley was being _kind_. "But it's much too expensive. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to make sure you had something nice. It's probably not pleasant being in a new place."

Aziraphale considered bringing up the papers in the greenhouse but decided basking in the scent of bitter chocolate and the promise of her favorite drink was better than ruining the moment.

Crowley held up the other package. "I also got you this."

Aziraphale set down the box with her treat on the hall table and took the other package. "This is absolutely unnecessary."

Crowley's cheeks turned a pink that clashed with his hair. It was delightful.

Aziraphale opened the paper and the smile she hadn't been able to suppress fell. A homemaker’s guide? Wasn’t that something for...housekeepers? Or for lower class women who didn’t know how to manage a household. Did Crowley really think she was that much of a failure already?

Useless in the bedroom, useless in the house. A terrible wife.

"Oh,” she breathed, paper crumpling in her hand as her shoulders drooped.

"You said you liked books," Crowley said in a rush. "And apparently this is what you're supposed to get for new wives."

Aziraphale swallowed and tried not to think how little she had gotten done in Crowley's absence. Even more frustrating that she had no idea where to start. Crowley had not told her who worked at the house or on what or even when they came and she'd made very little headway on gaining an understanding of the strange schedule other than that apparently servants came round to draw baths on Friday mornings.

"It's very thoughtful. Thank you, Mr. Crowley," Aziraphale said tightly, scooping up her presents. "Will I see you for supper?"

Mr. Crowley frowned. "Do you—yes. I'll be in the dining room at 7?"

"Lovely." Aziraphale said without meaning it before returning to the library.

* * *

Crowley changed out of his traveling clothes and tried to figure out where the interaction had gone wrong. Aziraphale had opened the chocolate and the slight frown on her face had transformed into something beautiful. Her eyes had gone bright and shiny and Crowley had the strangest thought that he would do almost anything to get her to look that way again, to have her thank him in that earnest, heartfelt voice.

But then the book.

The stupid book.

Whatever happiness the chocolate had afforded had been swept away immediately, the lovely light on her face gone out. Not that it mattered. Crowley was just trying to smooth things over, not _woo_ her or anything ridiculous.

He tossed his waistcoat on the bed and tugged off his cravat in frustration. She’d _said_ she’d liked books. Maybe she just didn’t like nonfiction? How was he supposed to bloody know that? It didn’t matter. Maybe the best way to put this matter to bed—no, poor choice of words—get it settled was to leave her to her own devices. She seemed independent and intelligent. He would make sure she knew she had access to funds and permission to use them and then leave her alone to do as she pleased. Perhaps _that_ would make her happy.

Not that he cared.

He just wanted to get his life back.

* * *

Aziraphale rolled over in her bed and stuffed her pillow over her head, letting out a long groan. Dinner the night before had been a disaster. Crowley had come downstairs in another of what she was beginning to determine were his ubiquitous black waistcoats and black breeches and they sat in a silence that Aziraphale finally broke.

“I’d like to meet the cook,” she said.

Crowley hummed noncommittally. “She lives in the village over the hill but she should be stopping by on Tuesday. She’s usually in twice a week or so. Why do you want to meet her?”

The question didn’t sound accusatory, only curious.

Aziraphale wriggled in her seat and picked at the salted ham. “She makes lovely scones.”

Crowley laughed, a loud bark that startled a laugh out of Aziraphale in turn. She liked when Crowley laughed, rare as it happened. They hardly spent enough time together for her to mark it, but when it did, she felt the need to laugh too.

But then the silence returned and Crowley did nothing to break it and Aziraphale could think of nothing else to speak of that wouldn’t be rude so she didn’t speak. By the end of it, her stomach was in knots.

If that wasn’t uncomfortable enough, before they parted ways in the hall by their bedrooms, Crowley paused and said, "I've got work that'll keep me busy this week, but you can spend your time as you please."

Frustrated and exhausted and not minding her tongue, Aziraphale snapped, “What sort of work? The kind that keeps you in the greenhouse?”

Crowley’s hand dropped from the doorknob. “What?”

Aziraphale put her hands behind her back and squared her shoulders, tilting her chin up defiantly. “I visited your greenhouse while you were away. A lovely place. Do you often conduct all your business there? You’d think you’d invest in a desk of some sort. I can’t imagine your business associates appreciate receiving letters covered in sod.”

Mr. Crowley worked his mouth, lips opening and closing like he was trying to form words and failing. Incomprehensible vowels came out instead. “I—you—it’s—”

Aziraphale held up a hand. “Do whatever you please, Mr. Crowley. But if you choose to return to your study, you have my word I shall not interrupt you there.”

Crowley gawped at her as she disappeared into her bedroom. Irritation burned in her gut while she stripped out of her clothes and into her sleepwear. She supposed irritation was better than shame, but now it was morning and Aziraphale had nothing to do. At least at her old house she had people to speak with but here even her husband avoided her. He probably hated her. Thought her a halfwit. Ugly too. Too fat and old and boring—

She flopped onto her back and told her thoughts to bugger off. They certainly sounded far too much like Gabriel.

Aziraphale let out a frustrated groan and heaved herself out of bed. It was no use berating herself. She had things she could do. She wanted to go over to the town Crowley had mentioned. Even if she couldn’t find the cook she could explore a bit, remind herself she was independent and not stuck in this blasted house.

After a quick scrub, she dressed in her most practical dress before pinning up her hair under a bonnet and taking herself to the kitchen to pick up an apple for the journey. She did not see Mr. Crowley but that was hardly surprising. For all she knew, he was back in the greenhouse, hiding from her despite what she had said. Maybe _because_ of what she had said.

She grumbled disparaging things under her breath as she slipped out the back door and bit into the apple.

The town itself was no bustling metropolis, just a fifteen minutes walk east of Mr. Crowley’s estate. It was clean and quaint and while nothing exciting, Aziraphale found it charming knowing such as a place was within walking distance.

As she walked past the handful of shops, she recognized a few faces from the servants she had seen come and go from Crowley’s. One of them nodded at her but that was the most interaction she received from the people in the town. A few women that looked to be of her station purposefully avoided her gaze and what was Aziraphale to do? It was Mr. Crowley’s job to introduce her to the local set. Introducing herself would be rude. Not only would she be the old, unwanted bride of the rich man on the hill, but also uncouth and ungainly. It was miserable.

She popped into the tailor’s just to see if there was anything of note, poking among the fabrics and ribbons and wishing she could be updating her trousseau. By all rights, she should be. A newly married woman was _supposed_ to be dressed in new frocks, but Mr. Crowley had left her entirely to her own devices. Perhaps he thought she would decide what was right on her own, but how was she to know? If it was Gabriel and she went off and purchased new dresses without permission, she would get a thorough talking to. Mr. Crowley didn’t seem like that, but it had only been a few weeks and she could hardly be sure of his disposition.

Aziraphale glanced outside and was shocked to see how gray everything had become while she was in the shop. It was only late afternoon but heavy clouds had blocked the sun.

She cursed herself for getting caught up in her thoughts and she hurried from the shop, but the storm hit as she crossed the bridge just before the hill back to the house began. Rain came down in thick sheets, soaking her dress through and plastering her hair to her head. The temperature dropped rapidly and with the wind whipping about, she felt chilled to the very bone before she even reached the house.

Shivering, she pushed inside the front door, miserable and ready for a fire or a warm bath. It was only when she was in her room that she remembered there was no one to help her. No servants. No husband. He was probably in his study or the greenhouse. Wherever he was, he didn’t want to see her.

She peeled herself out of her clothes, teeth clacking. She needed to get warm. She only just wrung out her hair before crawling into bed nude and tugging the blankets up as high as they would go. She would warm up and then she would try to start the fire. She'd never done it before but she'd seen other people do it and there was wood stacked beside it. She could try.

Without really meaning to, she drifted off. When she woke up, she felt even colder.

* * *

Aziraphale had not come down for dinner and against his better judgment, Crowley was worried. It wasn’t as if they ate dinner together often, but he usually heard her out in the hall and knew that she was getting food. He poked through the rooms downstairs but didn’t find her.

At her behest, he _had_ worked in his study all day, feeling rather sheepish for hiding from her before but not wanting to admit it. It turned out to be a good choice when the storm hit, making everything windy and cold. It would have been miserable to work in the greenhouse. Instead, he lit the fire in his study and worked by candlelight until it grew too dark to be worthwhile.

As he thought, Aziraphale was not in the kitchen or the dining room or the drawing room. Not even the library. That left...her bedroom.

It was quite early to retire but that didn’t mean she hadn’t. His curiosity got the better of him and when he went upstairs, he was satisfied to see candlelight flickering under her door. He would have left it at that if, just upon turning on his heel to leave, he hadn’t heard through the door, “ _Goddammit!_ ”

“Aziraphale?” he asked, hand already on the door handle.

“ _Great buggering…”_

“Aziraphale,” he said again, growing more than slightly concerned. “I’m coming in.”

He pushed the door open and found Aziraphale kneeling by the fireplace. She was bundled in her dressing gown _and_ the blanket from her bed. Her hair was down, wild about her head, like she had let it dry without doing anything to tame the curls. She was also trying and failing to start the fire.

Aziraphale turned at his entrance and her eyes went wide as she tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders.“Mr. Crowley!”

“Are you alright?” he asked, biting back a grin at the sight of her. She had a crease on her face from where her cheek had clearly been pressed against a pillow.

“It’s cold and I…” She gestured with the striker back at the fireplace. “I wanted to light the fire.”

Crowley knelt down beside her and took the striker and flint, quickly sparking and lighting the logs. Aziraphale sighed with relief and fell back onto the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and tucking the blanket tight about her shoulders. Her feet were bare and for some reason that struck Crowley as strange. Didn’t she have slippers?

Crowley spied the pile of clothes on the floor by the bed, the muddy boots. “Did you…get caught in the rain?”

Aziraphale huffed, a sound of obvious frustration. “Yes. It was awful out there.”

“That’s not very good for your health.”

Aziraphale shot him a dirty look and he held up his hands in surrender before offering, “Do you want some tea? Something warming? How about some of that chocolate?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. “That would be—that would be lovely. But I can come down and—”

“Nonsense. You stay here and warm up. I’ll bring it.”

Crowley rose to his feet, but before he could leave, a cool hand grasped his wrist. He looked down only to find Aziraphale staring up at him, her hazel eyes flickering gray in the firelight. “Thank you, Mr. Crowley.”

He cleared his throat, mouth unaccountably dry. “Call me Crowley. That mister nonsense makes me uncomfortable.”

When Aziraphale cocked her head in question, he rushed to add, “Too formal. You know.”

Aziraphale released his hand and chuckled as she tucked herself back into the blanket. “Alright. Crowley it is.”

Heart beating loud in his ears, he went downstairs to make his wife something warm to drink and ignored the way his hand still tingled.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that launched the entire fic. One of the arts contained here is ~slightly~ nsfw.
> 
> Additionally, there is a section within this chapter where it may seem that Crowley is being misgendered, once it switches POV it becomes clear that he is not but I wanted to put a note to make it clear up at the top.
> 
> Programming note: Me and Sparkle will be taking next week off for the holiday but should be back to posting the following week! <3

Crowley couldn't sleep—not an entirely new phenomenon—but he couldn't stop thinking of Aziraphale caught in the rain. He’d found her struggling to light a fire and she’d clearly been cold for quite some time. Too stubborn to come find him for help. More likely not sure of her reception if she had tried to find him.

That last bit, _that_ was what was keeping him awake.

She had liked the drinking chocolate he had made her even though Crowley knew he had made it too sweet and she had also accepted the plate of scones and fruit Crowley brought up with it.

"I didn't hear you come down for supper," he had said by way of explanation when he handed her the food. She took it with a grateful smile and no explanation of her own, but Crowley thought the wet pile of clothes was explanation enough.

He had still felt like he needed to do _more_ , to fix something. As if Aziraphale being caught in the rain was his fault somehow. But standing in her room was tense and uncomfortable, and it wasn't long before he excused himself and now he was in his room wishing he had some trip or party to look forward to. Anything besides months of more time with this wife of his. Seeing Newt on his last trip had done him some good. Perhaps he could visit Anathema. She lived much closer. Though visits to her house were inevitably always a bit more unnerving. She had a way of pointing out things Crowley would sometimes prefer to not think about. Right now, there was a lot Crowley did not want to think about.

There were always the more typical dinner parties with the local set. The people he needed to rub elbows with to seem normal and who his parents expected him to know. He didn’t love those dinner parties, but it might be a distraction.

Crowley got out of bed and grabbed his trousers. If he couldn't sleep, he could at least do something. Some work. Or read. He grimaced at himself. He was truly unraveling if he was thinking about wiling away the time by reading. But what was he going to do? Drink? He wasn't about to become some reclusive lush with a wife who hated him.

Reading it would be.

He shoved his feet into his boots and strode downstairs, making the barest effort not to make a racket. He wasn't trying to wake Aziraphale up, but he was also angry and if she woke up then so be it.

When he stepped into the library, he froze. When he had peeked inside earlier, he had barely taken in the place, but now as he looked through the moonlit room, he couldn’t believe the changes Aziraphale had already made. Some of the tension seeped from him as he breathed in the unique scent of Aziraphale’s lemon perfume. She spent so much time in here that it smelled like her. He looked at the chair in the corner—had it always been by the window?—and had an unbearable urge to curl up in it, to wrap one of the blankets tossed across the back around his shoulders. If the room smelled of Aziraphale, those blankets probably held her scent as well.

He dragged his gaze away, ignoring the siren call of that little nest, and noted the scattered tea cups on the table beside the chair, the piles of books. Moonlight filtered through the windows and illuminated the shelves. The tomes were entirely rearranged so Crowley grabbed one at random and left, oddly feeling as if he had disturbed some sanctuary.

He stepped out into the hallway and was startled by the flickering light of a candle and a gasp. He slammed back against the doorframe in surprise, only to realize the person holding the candle was his wife.

"Oh, Crowley, you startled me," she said, pressing a hand to her chest.

Her chest which was…

Crowley did not want to stare, but Aziraphale was out of bed in some sort of gauzy night dress that floated over her body, but hardly covered anything. There was a dressing gown over it, but it wasn't tied and in the light of the candle Crowley could see parts of her body he hadn't even seen when they had slept together. He could see the sag of her full breasts, large rosy nipples hard and pressed against the fabric. He could see the dip in her waist before her stomach rolled out and then into her hip. Not even beginning to speak of the thick swell of her thighs which he remembered petting with his hands. Had she whimpered when he had touched her?

Crowley tore his gaze away and clenched his fingers around his book. "Ngk. Grk. Startled. Yes. Sorry," he grated out, aware of every millimeter of his body and the distance between them.

Aziraphale had the utter gall to look at him with concern. "Are you alright, Mr. Crowley? You look...peaked."

He swallowed when she took a step closer and valiantly did not look anywhere but at her face. "Trouble sleeping. Just getting some reading."

Aziraphale smiled then, tiny but genuine and tucked one of her curls behind her ear. The whole lot was down about her shoulders, flickering like gold in the candlelight.

"Ah, well, you're in good company. I find I'm also having difficulty and had a similar idea."

"Library’s yours," Crowley said with a gesture in that direction, already scooting away as he began to lose the battle with his own eyeballs. If he was upstairs, he wouldn't be able to ogle his wife who certainly did not want to be ogled.

"Goodnight, Crowley," Aziraphale said softly, brushing past him. "I hope you get some sleep."

The minute Crowley was back in his room, he went to his wash basin and scrubbed his face with cold water. His cock was half-hard just _thinking_ about Aziraphale’s body. He hadn’t touched himself since the wedding night nearly a month ago which was probably part of the issue. He didn’t usually go so long without sex and to have someone like Aziraphale basically nude standing in front of him looking as beautiful as she did was enough to have anyone’s body react.

He lit a candle and crawled into bed with his book, ignoring his body’s rather insistent reaction. He tried to read. He did. But his thoughts kept drifting. He had once had Aziraphale in this very bed. He hadn’t taken off all of her clothes but he should have because what he had just seen, even just the promise of the shape of her body under the thin material of her nightgown, made him wish he had taken the time to appreciate her. She had the most beautiful hips. His hands would leave imprints in them. Were they sensitive? He could kiss and bite his way across her stomach, feel every inch of that softness he had only glimpsed as he settled between her thighs.

His hand slipped under the covers and his imagination began to run away as he wrapped a hand around his length.

_Aziraphale against the wall in the hallway, night dress hiked up around her waist as Crowley fucks her with his hand and this time she gasps and moans and moves with him._

_Aziraphale lifted up onto the hall table, legs spread with Crowley kneeling between them, face buried in her cunt. She clutches at the wall, at Crowley's hair. She screams and begs and writhes._

_Aziraphale tearing her night dress over her head, gloriously naked before pushing Crowley back, forcing him to sit in that awful reading chair just so she can crawl into his lap._

Crowley groaned and came all over his hand. His thighs quivered and his head fell back against the pillows.

He was buggered. He wanted to have sex with his wife.

* * *

Feeling flustered, Aziraphale stepped into the library and shut the door. Crowley had looked so...so…

He had looked so disheveled. His normally neat hair and clothes had been a mess and it reminded Aziraphale of the last time she'd seen him in a state of undress which made her stomach all squirmy and hot. A sensation she was growing more accustomed to handling but usually in the safety of her bedroom.

She _still_ hadn’t figured out that thing he did with his hand and every time she’d tried to bring herself off, her orgasms had been nice but not nearly as earth shattering. Really, she probably just needed to practice. Though she was beginning to think it might be that her hands were too small to reach the spot inside her that felt so good.

Sighing, she set her candle down on a low table. The light caught on the flap of her dressing gown and she gasped. Her dressing gown was open.

"Good lord," she said, grasping at the sides of the garment to shut it but the damage was done. She had seen Crowley in the hall. Her night dress was absolutely unseemly but that never mattered because she always tied her gown over it. How it had come undone she had no idea but she had just stood there in front of Crowley with her candle which had probably illuminated everything.

Aziraphale dropped into her reading chair and scrubbed her hand over her flaming face. No wonder Crowley was acting so strange. He probably thought her some sort of harlot. What if he thought she was trying to be seductive and found her disgusting?

No. He knew her purpose in the corridor and they had run into each other by accident. Aziraphale was simply letting her thoughts spin away. She closed her eyes and forced herself to calm down.

Crowley had been very kind that evening and Aziraphale was certain they had made some progress in their relationship, small as it was. She simply hoped this didn’t end up being another step backward. There were worse things than being seen in your night wear by your husband.

* * *

This dinner party might have been the worst experience of Aziraphale's life.

Ever since the Night Gown Incident, Crowley had been terse and even _less_ friendly than before. He’d stopped avoiding her but the small steps towards a tentative friendship had halted entirely. He was cold and abrupt and Aziraphale was exhausted and bored and she had hoped the party would help.

Instead, they stepped inside Mr. Sable’s house and after Crowley introduced her, he drifted off and _left_ her among the strangers, none of whom were kind. The small group of women she was left with chattered away about the latest marriage in their social circle. Aziraphale didn't speak, but it seemed no one expected her too.

She thought about the balls and parties Gabriel used to bring her to. People spoke to her at those. She was a Fell, that earned respect and deference, but now she was a Crowley. New money, odd reputation.

The group of women dispersed with none even bothering to introduce themselves, hardly sparing a glance at her, with raised brows and a quick up and down at her attire. She certainly wasn’t dressed in as fine a fashion as these married ladies of local gentry. Aziraphale tried to not let it bother her but her stomach grew heavy with nausea. Her gaze sought the familiar head of red hair and alighted upon it across the room.

Crowley was speaking to a handsome man she didn’t recognize, using animated gestures as he explained something. The man grinned and Crowley grinned back and Aziraphale's stomach twisted harder. Crowley never looked at her like that.

She wanted to leave or hide or both. A servant announced dinner before she could. Not that she had anywhere to go.

Everything served was unbearably fancy but nothing tasted good. Aziraphale ate anyway as people spoke about things she knew nothing about, people she'd never met, and business she didn't understand. Crowley sat across from her and ignored her too. She felt like an accessory. An ugly one. Ornamental and unwanted.

In the silent carriage ride home, she twisted her hands in her lap and tried to ignore the hissing voice in her head that reminded her she wasn't a good wife, she wasn't useful around the house and Crowley didn't want her in his bed. She was probably one wrong word from being sent to some house in the country, forgotten and alone. At least it was disinterest, not dislike. Right now it seemed that Crowley was more likely to ignore her completely than be cruel, as another man might have when stuck with an unwanted wife.

"I’ll be gone tomorrow," Crowley said as they went upstairs. "It will be a short trip. I’m not going to London. Just Basingstoke."

He said it fast. Like he was trying to reassure her. Of what, she didn't know. It wasn’t as if he had gone to any lengths to reassure her about anything before. Ignoring her at every turn. Leaving her to her own devices whenever it was convenient for him.

She nodded tightly, not trusting her voice. If she spoke, she was either going to cry or yell and both were hardly suitable.

Crowley paused in the hallway like he expected her to say something. She had nothing to say that wasn't _why do you find me wanting_. _How can I be a good wife? All I want is to be a good wife. It's all I can ever be._

So she went into her room and crawled into bed, curling around her pillow. She didn't cry.

When she woke up the next day, Crowley was gone.

* * *

The weather was horrible for travel and Aziraphale tried miserably not to care that Crowley was out in it. She found even that difficult as she curled up in the library with her book and a cup of tea.

Rain pattered against the window pane and smudged the view outside, perfectly matching Aziraphale’s mood. It was the sort of day to feel miserable for oneself and Aziraphale was certainly going to take advantage of that. What else was she to do?

When Gabriel had told her she was to marry, she didn’t have high hopes, but she was a positive person. She had imagined the sort of decent husband she could get along with. She’d hoped that with time, they would be friends. Living with Gabriel, she hadn’t had many of those. He had had control over who she spent time with and according to him, very few people were good enough for the Fells. Of course, she had her sister, Michael, but she had gotten married, and her cousin, Uriel, who had also gotten married. She had thought, ages ago, that she would marry too, but after her parents died, none of the matches were good enough for Gabriel and then she was too old for any offers to be made.

Not until the Crowleys who apparently valued the Fell name enough to appease Gabriel’s ego even if their son didn’t value Aziraphale whatsoever.

She knew how to be a good wife! She had learned how! She had expected to use those skills to be of use to Crowley until he was at least fond of her, but he didn’t want her at all. She was utterly useless. A failure.

Swiping at her eyes, she chided herself. Such thoughts served no purpose. She couldn’t change her situation and wallowing in her feelings got her nowhere. Gabriel had always been fond of reminding her of that.

_Reading_ , she told herself as the rain came down harder. She was going to read.

With some determination, she found herself sinking into the story and when she finished the volume she went to pluck the second from the shelf to take it upstairs and finish it by candle light. Except she couldn't find the second volume. Strange.

She looked through the stack of books beside the chair but it wasn't there either. Then she remembered running into Crowley in the hall, book in hand.

"Bother," she said with a frustrated huff. She had wanted to get snacks from the kitchen and curl up in bed and now she had to go into her husband's room and find the book she wanted.

She marched upstairs, quietly fuming and realized abruptly she didnt have to be quiet.

"I’m Crowley and I’m handsome but I ignore my wife and act like an arse," Aziraphale said mockingly as she pushed into Crowley’s room, finding it unlocked. She set her candle on the vanity and looked over the room, expecting to see the book on the bedside table and was disappointed to find it empty.

She tentatively poked at the rumpled bed sheets and pointedly did not think about being laid back on them. Tugging them aside afforded no new discoveries, but Crowley also had a trunk at the foot of his bed. He didn’t keep much around so perhaps, despite his messy linens, he cleaned up regularly and had tucked the book away.

Aziraphale retrieved the candle and brought it to the bedside table so the light shone more directly onto the trunk. She opened it and gasped at the sight of what was inside. The flickering light of the candle illuminated the contents enough that she could not be mistaken. Red silk. She propped the lid against the foot of the bed and pulled out the cloth. A dress. Beautifully made with fine black lace and a satin ribbon tie around the waist. Aziraphale bit her lip as something hot and bitter pooled in her stomach. She wasn’t a fool. These dresses weren’t some hidden gift for her. She tugged the dress out of the trunk and held it up. They were for someone thin, small-chested, tall. Someone the opposite of her.

Aziraphale threw the dress onto the bed and looked beneath it only to find another dress, this one a fine gray. It was the same size. Beneath it, another.

Was this why Crowley treated Aziraphale like some sort of interloper? Before she came had he kept a mistress? Were these her dresses?

Aziraphale’s eyes burned and the black material of the silk dress crumpled in her hand. Crowley bought some other woman these beautiful dresses. The sort of dresses he should buy his wife even if he didn’t love her.

She rose on shaking legs and laid out the first dress she had thrown onto the bed. It was gorgeous. It would look awful on her. A mistress. Crowley’s mistress. She most likely used to live here before Aziraphale came. Did Crowley visit her in London? Was that why Aziraphale wasn’t welcome?

Aziraphale stared at the evidence of Crowley’s infidelity and found her tears drying up. Crowley obviously had money. Aziraphale knew he did. He had enough to keep a mistress and enough taste to buy these dresses for her, whoever she was. He _knew_ how to treat a woman but apparently Aziraphale wasn’t good enough even though she had tried, even though she had asked. She had had sex with him for goodness sake! And she had been willing to do it again!

The door to the bedroom creaked open and Aziraphale’s head shot up. In the dim light of the candle, Crowley stood, drenched from the rain, frozen in the doorway.

He was gaping at her. He glanced at the dresses strewn on the floor and then back at her. _“_ It’s not what it looks like.”

“You bastard,” Aziraphale hissed and Crowley cringed. Good.

* * *

Crowley should have locked the trunk. He was a fool. And now Aziraphale was glaring at him, a fire in her eyes that he shouldn’t have thought was fetching but did anyways because, as stated, he was a fool.

“First,” Aziraphale said, stepping closer, “You spend weeks avoiding me and treating me like a leper. I tried to understand. We didn’t know each other. Fine. But I wanted to help around the house and you said no. Do you know what wives do, Crowley?”

Crowley stared at her as she advanced on him. She bowled over his silence, voice rising in volume. “We take care of our husband’s households. I’ve been taught that my whole life. I am supposed to manage your servants and expenditures and plan meals and host parties and what do you do, Crowley?”

“Um,” Crowley said, feeling oddly weak about the pelvis and knees.

“You do none of those things. When I offer to help? What do you do? Brush me off and _ignore me_. You take me to parties and _ignore me_. But this…”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s favorite black ball gown from the floor and shook it at him like a common rag. “This is too far. You can be a grouch, you can avoid me. You can be a bastard as much as you like, but you will _not_ keep a mistress. You can pretend I’m not your wife but you will respect—me.”

Aziraphale’s voice broke and, to Crowley’s horror, tears began to leak from her eyes. “I will not be the subject- _hic_ -of gossip and- _hic_ -ridicule while you make love to some- _hic_ -strumpet and buy her- _hic_ -fine things and talk to her and be her friend while I _rot_.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, desperately trying to think of something to calm her. Her face was so red. Her neck was getting splotchy. “I don’t have a mistress.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she shouted as she threw the dress at him. Crowley dropped it to the floor.

“Aziraphale,” he said again. “The dresses are mine.”

Aziraphale gave him a withering look that even through her tears Crowley found inordinately adorable. “I know they’re yours, Crowley. I found them.”

“No, I mean I wear them. They’re _mine_.”

“I’m glad to know you think this is funny,” Aziraphale snapped, wiping furiously at her tears. “But I don’t appreciate you mocking me. I’m going to write to my brother. Perhaps I’ll stay with him for a few weeks.”

When she exited the room, she slammed the door behind her, leaving Crowley dripping on the floor with no idea what to do.

He glanced at the red dress laid out on the bed.

Well, he had one idea.

* * *

Aziraphale dropped onto the edge of the bed and wept. She had _cried_ in front of Crowley. How mortifying.

Maybe she wouldn’t even write to Gabriel. Maybe she would just go. He would say something judgmental when she showed up but he would be welcoming enough.

Getting up with some effort, she dug out a handkerchief from her chest of drawers and blew her nose. Her stomach hurt and her eyes ached and it was all Crowley’s fault. The utter arsehole.

A knock sounded it at the door and she considered throwing something at it. It had to be Crowley. But despite it all, Crowley’s miserable behavior and their fight, Aziraphale’s politeness won out.

With a final swipe at her eyes, she put her shoulders back and opened the door only to pause in confusion at the sight of the woman standing there. Her high necked red gown looked extremely familiar. Aziraphale struggled to place it for a moment before the woman’s gaze fluttered away awkwardly and her rouged mouth quirked. Aziraphale’s hand flew to her own chest as she recognized the expression. “Crowley?”

“I said the dresses were mine and I meant it,” Crowley said and that deep voice coming out of that painted mouth made Aziraphale’s head spin. It was so strange and yet it somehow suited Crowley.

“I wouldn’t keep a mistress,” Crowley grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“But you wear dresses,” Aziraphale said. Her mind ran over everything people had said about Crowley before they had married. How private he was. How he ran with odd people.

“Sometimes,” Crowley said awkwardly. “Look, if you want to file papers for a divorce, or even go back to living with your brother, that’s fine. We can—”

“No!” Aziraphale said. Her hand shot out to grab Crowley’s wrist without thinking. “That’s not what I want.”

Crowley peered at her curiously. “What do you want then?”

“I want to know what you get out of it,” Aziraphale said.

“Out of what?”

“The dresses.”

Crowley laughed, that loud bark that Aziraphale liked against her better judgment. “I think I might need a drink for that conversation.”

“I think I might need a drink in general,” Aziraphale said and Crowley laughed again and it felt as if, for a moment, they were both in on the joke and Aziraphale liked that very much.

* * *

“S’like…” Crowley said with a wide gesture. “Dresses are _nice_.”

They’d ended up in the drawing room downstairs, both with generous pours of whiskey which they’d downed quickly before pouring second glasses. Now Aziraphale was sprawled on the chaise and Crowley was in his chair trying to explain.

That Aziraphale hadn’t run from the house screaming was a good sign. He didn’t think he could explain it all. Not Miss Ashtoreth, not the way he went to parties and was no longer _Mr. Crowley_ but someone else, the part of him that, in certain moments, yearned for skirts and stays, rouge and ribbons.

But he could explain liking dresses. That was easy.

“They are nice,” Aziraphale agreed with a little kick of her feet. Crowley should buy her some slippers.

“And when I was young I always thought they were nice and I thought it was idiotic boys and girls had to wear different clothes and I wanted to wear the pretty dresses.”

“The dresses you have _are_ pretty,” Aziraphale said, a bit slurred. She was definitely on the way to sloshed.

“You can have dresses like that if you want,” Crowley offered. He was on the way to sloshed too.

Aziraphale made a face. Her chin tipped down and gave her a precious roll of fat that made her look softer than usual. Crowley had the mad thought that it would be nice to kiss her chin. He hadn’t kissed it last time he had the chance.

“No. Red and black? Awful colors on me,” Aziraphale said. “Lovely on you though.”

Crowley rearranged his skirt and blushed something awful. The whiskey was doing a doozy on his head. Aziraphale’s adorable chin wasn’t helping his cause.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said, waving her hand in front of her face and shaking her head. “You. You were saying.”

“Right. Um. I got older and realized wearing dresses wasn’t acceptable really but I had the money to do what I wanted and found like-minded people so sometimes, I go to dinner parties with friends who also wear dresses or who appreciate that I do.”

Not the whole truth, but enough of it for now. Maybe one day Crowley would explain—

“Do you sleep with men then?” Aziraphale asked frankly, making Crowley choke.

Aziraphale just stared at him while he tried to breathe through the whiskey stinging his lungs.

“Do you...really want me to answer that?”

“Really, Crowley, if I’m not going to judge you for the dresses, am I going to judge you for sleeping with men? I’ve read books about it you know,” she said, sounding very pleased with herself.

A strange euphoria stole over Crowley like his spirit was being tugged out of his body. He’d thought this wife of his would be the first to judge his lifestyle, point to her bible and call him a sinner, try to reform him, or worse, use it to control him while threatening his life. But Aziraphale looked at him with her guileless gray eyes, honest enthusiasm on her face as she drank more whiskey.

“I mean...I like...both?”

“You can like both?” Aziraphale asked curiously.

“You can like all sorts of things,” Crowley said, grabbing the whiskey from the side table to pour himself another. He offered some to Aziraphale who took it gratefully.

“Fascinating,” Aziraphale breathed, a bit of a lisp in the middle of the word.

“I’ll drink to that,” Crowley said.

They drank in silence for a few moments before Aziraphale spoke. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Nah. S’a reasonable conlus—conclusion,” Crowley said. “Wouldn’t have a mistress though. Bastard thing to do.”

“That’s what I thought!” Aziraphale cried as if she was delighted they agreed.

“‘Sides, seems I should be apologizing for…" Crowley wracked his brain and tried to pick one of the many accusations Aziraphale had laid at his feet.

"Being an arse?" Aziraphale finished.

"Yes, that," Crowley said and the floor started to look like an awfully nice place to sit so he sat on it.

"You can do whatever you want, yanno,” he began with an attempt at a shrug that was more of a full body slump. “Run the house. Throw a party. Hire a dozen, no, five dozen, however many dozen servants. S'your house too. Just seemed strange to make you do something that didn't need doing. Thought I’d leave you go do what you want with your life."

Aziraphale slipped off the chaise lounge and plucked the decanter off the table before joining him on the floor. "But I don't have anything else to do," she said sullenly then she took a pull straight from the crystal neck of the bottle.

"What did you do back at your old house?" Crowley asked.

"Whatever my brother told me to do," Aziraphale said, frustration clear even as she slurred out the answer.

"Bollocks to that," Crowley said. He snatched the decanter and took his own drink. "If you could do anything with your free time what would it be?"

Aziraphales eyes went distant. "I would love to learn to cook but Gabriel always said—"

"Fuck Gabriel."

Aziraphale squeaked and then burst out laughing. She shoved at Crowley's shoulder. Drunk as he was, he tipped over easily.

"I can't believe you," she said, giggling manically.

"What?" Crowley demanded, righting himself and bumping her shoulder with his. "Your brother’s a wanker."

"I don't disagree with you it's just—no one’s ever said that before."

"Oh, I'm sure people have said it."

Aziraphale burst into another fit of giggles. "He is though. A wanker."

"Didn't seem very nice to you."

After shoving at him, Aziraphale had ended up leaning against him. He found he didn't mind as she dropped her head onto his shoulder.

"He had high expectations. I frequently failed to meet them," she said quietly and Crowley didn't like how maudlin it sounded but before he could come up with some suitable retort his stomach gurgled audibly.

Right. He'd not eaten since before he left Basingstoke.

Aziraphale rolled away and gave his stomach a perplexed look. Her eyes widened. "Scones!"

"Scones?" Crowley repeated, unable to follow her logic.

Aziraphale grabbed his hand and tugged him up, already dragging him into the hallway. "We should eat some scones. That's what I want to learn how to make. Ooh and pies. And lemon curd! Oh, and custard."

"Sounds like you wanna make everything," Crowley mumbled, tripping after her.

The kitchen was a good idea however. Whiskey on an empty stomach would have spelled disaster and soon they were back in the drawing room with a pitcher of weak beer and plates of nibbles, Aziraphale happily munching on apple slices as they talked and drank and talked some more.

It turned out Aziraphale was smart. And she liked to make jokes at Crowley’s expense. Or perhaps that was the whiskey loosening her tongue. But Crowley liked it. He liked that when he poked fun at her she poked fun back.

Eventually the talking drifted into whispers as sleep and drink won out. The last coherent thought Crowley had before sleep took him was:

_She’s perfect_.

* * *

Aziraphale awoke to gritty eyes and a horrid taste in her mouth. She sat up and groaned. Her head was splitting. That was probably the whiskey.

"Aziraphale."

Aziraphale glanced over the edge of the sofa cushion and spied Crowley lying on the floor.

"I think I'm dying," he groaned into the carpet.

She laid back down and let out a pitiful moan. "If you're dying, I'm dead."

"Whiskey is the devil."

"You're the devil for making me drink it." The room spun wickedly behind Aziraphale’s closed eyes and her stomach rebelled. She was _not_ going to be sick.

"Making you?" Crowley said. "You guzzled it like a fish."

"Stop talking about whiskey or I will vomit on your lap."

"Don't say vomit or I’ll vomit."

They groaned in unison and fell silent. Aziraphale’s body was simultaneously hot and cold and also drenched in sweat and all she wanted was something to drink that wasn't whiskey. Perhaps she could make it to the kitchen.

"Just...just go back to sleep," Crowley said.

"Don't you have to work?" Aziraphale asked.

"No. Sod it. I'm sleeping."

Aziraphale opened her eyes the barest amount, hating the amount of sunshine in the drawing room. "We should go upstairs."

"Blegh. Stairs."

Crowley's voice was muffled and when she peered down to look at him again, he had rolled over, face smooshed into the rug.

"Counter argument: bed,” Aziraphale managed to say.

Crowley hummed with interest.

"Pillows,” she added.

Crowley heaved himself off the floor with an awful groan. "You win."

He held out a hand to help her up and she took it. His palm was smooth save for a single callous beneath his forefinger. Aziraphale wondered where it was from.

They muddled their way upstairs and without really planning or discussing it, both went into Crowley's bedroom and collapsed into his bed. The drapes were shut and it was blissfully quiet.

"Bed," Crowley moaned, splaying out his limbs. His fingers brushed Aziraphale’s forearm. Warm.

She sank into the pillows and shut her eyes.

They were silent for so long Aziraphale had no idea if Crowley was asleep. The clamoring in her head had quieted slightly and she said, "Thank you for telling me the truth last night."

Crowley grunted into the pillow. "Wassat?"

"Nothing. Just...I'm glad we talked."

Crowley;’s eyes peeled open, revealing their soft brown color. "Me too. Maybe we should talk more."

"I’d like that very much," Aziraphale said. Her heart thumped hard in her chest as Crowley smiled gently back at her before pushing his face back into the pillow.

"But let's do that another day. Now. Sleep."

Aziraphale laughed and regretted it when it pounded in her temples. Sleep was probably wise.

So, for the first time, she slept in a bed next to her husband.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Val and I didn't expect to post today but schedules freed up so here's a holiday gift from us to you! 
> 
> Take care and enjoy <3
> 
> At this point, I'm not entirely sure we will see an update next Friday so TBD!

“Well, do you want a maid?” Crowley asked her as they walked through the hedges. She shook her head.

After their ill-advised night of whiskey drinking, they’d woken up groggy but recovered some time in the afternoon and, after cleaning up, decided to go on a walk. Aziraphale found that fresh air was doing them both some good.

“I don’t think so. I honestly didn’t realize how awkward it was to always have someone around until they were gone. Is that why you don’t have servants?” Aziraphale asked, dropping onto the bench by the folly.

Crowley shrugged. “S’mostly to do with avoiding gossip. Turns out no amount of money keeps people’s mouths shut.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, thinking of the trunk of dresses and Crowley’s mentions of his _like-minded_ friends. “I suppose that makes sense. Though there are certain amenities servants can provide that I think you’d enjoy.”

“Such as?” Crowley asked as he leaned against the wall of the folly and arched a brow. 

“Daily hot meals for one,” Aziraphale said, crossing her arms over her chest, beginning to feel like Crowley was about to tease her. He had a look on his face, the barest smirk. It reminded her of the night before when they had started to relax together. She liked it very much.

“I thought you were going to learn how to cook.”

“For a diversion!” Aziraphale protested. “Not every day!”

Crowley scoffed and kicked at a rock. It skittered down the path, landing at Aziraphale’s feet. “Food’s not that interesting.”

“Not that interesting?” Aziraphale said with a gasp. “You can’t possibly—”

Crowley grinned and Aziraphale kicked the rock back at him. “You fiend.”

He laughed that barking laugh of his and Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel glad they’d finally found some middle ground. 

“We can hire more kitchen staff if you’d like,” he offered, still smiling.

“Perhaps we can compromise?” Aziraphale asked. “I’d hate for you to change your lifestyle for me when I’m getting along just fine.”

Crowley’s expression changed, smile faltering for a moment. “What’s your proposal?”

“Two dinners a week,” she said. “The rest can be exactly as it has been.”

“I think we can make that work,” Crowley said, reaching out his hand to help her stand. “Any other changes to the house?”

Aziraphale bit her lip. In for a penny…

“I would like to redecorate the library.”

* * *

It turned out Crowley should have been friends with his wife from the start. She was brilliant. They’d started to share dinner every night and invariably their conversation would be so engrossing that it would lead straight from dinner to after-dinner drinks in the drawing room.

She didn’t know much about business, or at least not Crowley’s business, but she was intelligent and a fast learner. Rarely did Crowley have to explain anything more than once and whenever he complained about some sort of snag with some associate or some bit of trade, she always had an idea. Usually something underhanded and manipulative. It made him proud actually. This proper lady with all these cunning ideas. Who would have known?

“All I’m saying is if you go through a different broker you can most likely get a better rate, which, if you bring it to Mr. Doyle and just _happen_ to mention it, he will be forced to work with you won’t he?” Aziraphale said with her eyebrows raised innocently as she sipped at her port. 

He’d also learned that she liked fine wine and expensive port and while she enjoyed whiskey, it wasn’t as sweet as what she preferred. 

He marked that down as another thing to remember when he next went to town which happened to be much sooner than he expected. One of his tenants had issues with their crops that year and he needed to rearrange some finances to make up for the loss and help them through the coming winter. He wasn't about to kick some poor family off their land because of a bad year.

When he told Aziraphale over dinner three weeks after the change in their relationship, she hesitated before asking, "Do I get to come with you this time?"

Crowley grimaced. "It's...it’s a short trip."

Aziraphale stabbed at the potato on her plate with unnecessary force, her fork scraping over the china loud enough for it to echo in the room. "Alright."

It did not seem...alright. "Aziraphale," he began and she shot him a haughty look. He pushed on. "I have terrible accommodations, no place for a lady. You wouldn't like it."

"Perhaps let me decide what I like," Aziraphale shot back, raising her eyebrows that way Crowley noticed she did when she expected him to argue.

"I hardly like it," he said, which wasn't really an argument. "If you want to go to town, we should plan it. More than a day where I'll be busy with appointments. I'm sure you have places you like, we can plan around that. Find somewhere nice to stay."

"Actually," Aziraphale said, expression clouding. "I've not been to town in years. Not since I was younger. Gabriel said it was a waste of money."

Crowley had a strange urge to throw something, perhaps a fork or a plate. Preferably directly at Aziraphale’s brother’s face. 

"So I don't know what it's like in recent years," she admitted as she directed her eyes back to her food.

Crowley clenched his fist in his lap and said as calmly as possible, "Well, while I'm away this time, why don't you make a list of things you remember and we can start there?"

Aziraphale favored him with a smile that he would remember for a long time and wiggled happily in her seat. "Perhaps it's for the best that we don't go this weekend, Cook was going to teach me how to bake those scones."

"And you can't miss the scones," Crowley said with an understanding pout. He returned to his dinner with rose-colored plans for a week in London dancing in his head.

* * *

What a lovely day. Aziraphale was going to London soon and she had made scones. They were warm in her picnic basket which she filled with various other accoutrement: cheese, apples, bread, wine. It was a lovely fall afternoon, perhaps one of the last ones before winter set in and she wanted to enjoy it. A book and good food and wine would be perfect.

She settled herself by the hedges close to the greenhouse. One of the trees there was in the middle of changing color and she propped herself up against it, enjoying the wind rustling through the leaves as she read.

It was the sound of a horse that roused her from her story shortly thereafter. She snapped her head up and saw Crowley coming down the lane on his horse, headed for the stables. 

Glancing at her basket, she knew she had packed more than enough for two and she and Crowley had been getting on so well over the last month...

Decided, she set her book aside and hurried after him.

"Crowley!" she called and he pulled his horse up short.

He grinned when he saw her and she was once more reminded that her husband was rather handsome, stormy disposition or no.

"I was just about to enjoy a picnic," she said as she caught her breath. "Would you join me?"

Crowley looked off towards the stables and back at her before nodding. “Let me stable my horse.”

“I’m over by the beech tree,” she said, gesturing back towards her blanket and basket. Crowley turned his horse and trotted off.

She mentally adjusted her plans for the afternoon. It wasn't reading in the afternoon sunlight, but spending time with Crowley was proving to be just as diverting.

* * *

Crowley dropped down on the blanket beside Aziraphale and was treated to a sunshine grin. His heart was beating fast but that was probably from walking up the hill from the stable.

"How was your trip?" she asked before handing him a glass of wine.

"Unremarkable." It was true. He’d gotten the matter handled quickly, dealt with a few other appointments and had set out the following morning to return home. Aziraphale seemed to like the idea of town but Crowley found it exhausting.

"I made scones while you were gone," Aziraphale declared, retrieving the small wrap of baked goods. She set it on the ground and pulled out one of the scones which looked dishearteningly brown. She hadn't seemed to notice as she held one out to him.

He took it warily. "How are they?"

"I was saving them to try outside as a treat but now you're here so we can try them together!" she said with more excitement than he thought burned scones warranted.

Crowley examined the scone in his hand dubiously. Aziraphale seemed very excited and he didn't want to be rude but also...it did not look good.

He bit into it and grimaced. It was both salty and dry and somehow sticky.

Aziraphale's face fell.

"No," he warned, waving the scone about. “Don’t make that face. You try it first and then you can make that face at me.”

She took another small bite and spit it out onto the grass as her nose wrinkled. "I must have done something wrong."

"I'll say."

Aziraphale snorted which turned into a giggle which turned into a real laugh. "I was so sure they'd be lovely."

Crowley laughed a little too, tossing the scone in the air and catching it as it fell. "On the bright side, you could probably sell them to me."

Aziraphale laughter gave way to genuine confusion, eyebrows drawing together as Crowley continued to pretend to be very serious. He turned to her and casually added, "I've been looking for stones to pave the garden walk."

Aziraphale spluttered and threw her scone at him. "You wretched man."

Crowley held up his hands to protect his chest. "No! They're perfect for it. They’d probably last forever. Hard as granite they are."

In lieu of a scone, Aziraphale ripped up some grass and tossed it in his face. He swiped it off and threw his scone into her lap.

“Awfully rude,” he said. “Now what else have you got in that basket or were you planning on throwing the greenery at me all afternoon? Bit of a terrible welcome if you ask me."

Aziraphale chuffed a pleased laugh and rearranged her skirts. She had a pleasant blush on her cheeks and Crowley wanted to kiss her.

No. _No_. He stuffed that very inconvenient urge down deep into the pit of his stomach where it belonged and tried to forget about it.

"Some lovely cheese actually!" she exclaimed, turning to the picnic basket to retrieve it.

So Crowley ate his cheese amid the scattered grass and listened to Aziraphale tell him about her kitchen adventures and her latest book, a warm feeling in his body that seemed to have nothing to do with the wine. He realized absently that it was probably something like happiness.

* * *

The problem, Crowley decided that night as he laid in bed, was that Aziraphale had pretty hair. And when the sunshine hit it just right, it looked like spun gold. 

The other problem was that he couldn't stop thinking about how soft she looked and how she smelled of sweet lemons. Not even beginning to mention the fetching little roll of her neck when she grinned at him.

If those problems were insufficient, he found himself thinking of her more than he should. Thoughts he shouldn't have been having. His mind conjuring up images of that night in the corridor and even worse, their wedding night. He hadn't properly appreciated her. He should have taken off her shift. He should have brought her off more than once. He knew how. He was good with his hands. But he'd been so focused on getting it over with.

He let himself imagine it, longer kisses, roaming hands. It was folly to entertain such things but he couldn't help himself. And when he found himself dealing with his body's response to such thoughts, he let the images linger, coming with Aziraphale’s name in his mouth.

He comforted himself in the knowledge that being attracted to his wife was not the worst situation he could be in. Perhaps one day, she would find herself interested in returning to the activities of the marriage bed where such lust would be useful and Crowley would not need to feel guilty for wanking to thoughts of her. 

No, it could be worse. He could be in love with her. He could be desperate and pining and wishing for her love while she was just stuck with him, only doing her duty.

Thankfully, he wasn’t so stupid as to fall into a situation like that.

* * *

Things with Crowley had improved exponentially. All of the little flashes of hope Aziraphale had felt when they first married began to come together as she saw Crowley for who he was. A rather nervous person, but a kind one. 

The night after their picnic, she went upstairs to get ready for bed and found two presents on her bed. The first was a pair of slippers with a note that said _I saw you didn’t wear any, don’t want you catching a cold._ The second was a small catalogue of furniture with a shorter note. _Inspiration for the library_.

That he had thought of her in London while he was busy going about his business and doing goodness only knew what, warmed her heart. It seemed there was potential for a real friendship here and Aziraphale didn’t want to have any expectations but she found herself hoping anyway. This wasn’t some cold man who wanted to shove her away and forget her. They could be friends, share laughter. She had been so wrong and as she readied herself for bed that evening, it was with a smile on her face.

* * *

"I thought we could go to London next month," Crowley said in the drawing room a few days after his most recent trip.

Aziraphale looked up from her book with obvious excitement.

"Really?"

"We already discussed this," Crowley groused, more for show than anything, but Aziraphale was already bouncing in her seat.

"I would love to," she said. "Do you need any help making arrangements?"

Crowley gestured to the letter he was writing. "Already working on it."

Aziraphale grinned and Crowley's heart did something funny. They'd had a hot meal that night. Maybe the soup had settled strangely. A bit of indigestion or some such.

"That sounds wonderful," Aziraphale said.

* * *

A trip! They were going on a trip! For the first time in months Aziraphale would be going somewhere that wasn't the little village over the hill or wandering Crowley's property.

And it would be London! She’d so rarely been in the last five years that she could barely remember it. She wanted to see everything, do everything.

They took the carriage and Aziraphale was practically bouncing off the walls. She knew Crowley was laughing at her but she couldn't contain it.

A whole week! In London!

When they arrived at their lodgings, the hired coachmen carried their things into the little apartment and when Aziraphale stepped inside, she gasped. It was hardly some awful thing like Crowley had described weeks ago. 

"This is lovely," she said, turning to her husband who slipped inside behind her, looking at his boots.

"I, er, didn't want you to have to stay at the other place. So I got this."

The little sitting room had a lovely fire and beautiful natural light. There was a gorgeously appointed bedroom. But only one.

When they went inside, Aziraphale placed her hand on the soft coverlet and took in the beautiful four poster. She had slept beside Crowley that day after drinking too much whiskey but this would be a whole week of sharing a bed. That was different and slightly daunting.

Crowley drew up beside her and cleared his throat.. "I couldn't find anything with two bedrooms on short notice. If you're uncomfortable, I can sleep on the sofa."

Aziraphale turned to him and took his hand in both of hers, a gesture of friendly affection that felt suddenly very right. They were friends now, at the very least.

"Nonsense, my dear. We're married. I trust we can share a bed without incident."

Aziraphale patted his hand and smiled. "Besides, I need you well rested so you can be my tour guide. I want to go absolutely everywhere."

Crowley snorted.

"I see. No care for my comfort, all care for your London experience."

Aziraphale nudged him with her hip playfully. "I don't think you understand how much I’ve been looking forward to this."

"Oh, I understand quite well," Crowley teased. "Now get changed for supper. We're going out."

* * *

That night Crowley took her to a dining hall which was very scandalous indeed and there was more than one woman about in face paint with a gentleman on her arm who was certainly not her husband.

But they had oysters and warm bread and strong beer and it was entirely lovely to be in a room full of strangers, listening to drunken laughter, as Crowley shared stories of past visits to this very dining hall.

"I had these friends at school," Crowley said, cheeks pleasantly flushed from the drink. Aziraphale leaned her face on her hand and just listened to Crowley talk. He had very expressive features. It was so nice to watch him speak.

"We used to come here all the time." He took another drink and swallowed. The movement of his throat drew Aziraphale’s eyes to the stubble forming over his neck. She was feeling flushed. Oddly distracted.

"Hastur and Ligur. Awful fellows but we got up to some magnificent trouble." Crowley grinned, eyes going distant.

"Like what?" Aziraphale asked, sitting up and forcing herself to pay attention. 

"I shouldn't tell you," Crowley said with a smirk, waving his hand dismissively.

"Oh, you can't tease me like that and then _not_ tell me," Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley's smirk turned into a sharp grin. "Alright, but first you need to know that Ligur’s parents breed exotic lizards."

The story went downhill from there. Laws were most certainly broken. Aziraphale should have been horrified at the sheer destruction of property but all she could do was laugh and that made Crowley laugh too which was very good.

The entire evening was good. Wonderful in fact. Then they left the hall, the cool autumn air raising goose pimples on Aziraphale skin as they walked back to Mayfair. 

"Are you cold?" Crowley asked when Aziraphale grit her teeth to stop them from clacking.

"It is a bit chilly," Aziraphale admitted. "But it's not much further."

Crowley looped their arms together and pressed a bit closer than was probably decent. His body was warm, the heat threading through his jacket and blooming over her skin. Being so close to someone else made her blush. It was Crowley as well. Crowley who she had—

"Thank you for tonight," Aziraphale said as they approached the building holding their rented rooms.

She wasn't entirely sure but she thought Crowley's arm tightened in hers. "Of course. I've got to admit I was worried you might not enjoy the dining hall. It’s not entirely to Fell family standards."

Aziraphale snorted as they walked into the hotel. "No, certainly not. Gabriel would have had an apoplexy to hear I was within spitting distance of the place."

She shook off her shawl and set it aside, pleased to see the fire in the bedroom already lit. 

She felt the brush of Crowley's hand on her back and froze. 

"Do you need help?"

"With what?" she asked. The bed loomed beside them and no matter what she had said that afternoon, it suddenly seemed much smaller than she remembered. The last time Crowley had undone her buttons, not long after his hands had parted her thighs and done that _thing_.

"With your dress?" Crowley asked, voice flat. He clearly wasn't descending through the various layers of hell like Aziraphale was.

"Ah," Aziraphale said. "I—" she usually handled it herself but it would be nice not to have to twist for the middle button. "Yes. That would be lovely."

Crowley's fingers moved down her back, his knuckles brushing her spine as he worked and then her dress parted, leaving her only in her shift and half stays.

Her skin prickled in the most peculiar fashion as she heard Crowley step away.

"I'll leave you to get ready for bed," he said and he didn't even wait before disappearing out the door.

She let her dress fall to the floor and tried to not be insulted at the speed with which Crowley tried to avoid seeing her in any state of undress. 

* * *

Crowley sat in the chair by the sitting room fireplace and ignored his erection.

He bit his nails. It didn't help.

He tapped his foot. No change.

It was simply that Aziraphale had been standing there before him, head bowed as he undid her buttons. She had a freckle at the base of her neck. It was shaped like a heart.

It would have been so easy to kiss her there, to slide his hands inside her dress, around her waist, to cup her full breasts before running his hand down her belly to play with her pretty cunt, but Crowley was not going to risk it. He'd been rejected a handful of times but he'd never had to live side by side with a person who didn’t want him. His relationship with Aziraphale was barely a friendship and he wasn't going to risk that just because he wanted to get his hands back on that warm, wet—

"Crowley?" Aziraphale called, stepping out into the room. She was wearing the slippers Crowley had bought and of all things _that_ made Crowley's chest flare with possessiveness.

She smiled at him because she had no idea he was hard as nails thinking about her. She’d be horrified.

"You can get changed if you'd like. I was just going to get in bed and read but I can step out if you're uncomfortable."

Crowley—stupid Crowley—spoke before he thought. "S'nothing you haven't seen."

Aziraphale turned a shade of red heretofore unknown to mankind and slipped back into the bedroom with a squeak.

"Wonderful job, Crowley," he grumbled to himself. "Remind her of the time she forced herself to have sex with you and then go show her your cock. Spiffing."

When he managed to walk normally, he returned to the bedroom and began to disrobe. Aziraphale was already tucked primly in bed, nose buried in a book. Her hair was just a fluff above the top of her pages but Crowley did her the courtesy of putting on his sleep shirt before removing his trousers so that his cock _wasn’t_ out.

When he got into bed, Aziraphale cleared her throat, cutting through the awkward silence. "I can put out the candle."

Crowley rolled onto his side, facing away from her. "Eh, don't bother. I fall asleep easy. If you want to read, don't stop on my account."

Crowley felt Aziraphale shift behind him. "Oh. Alright then. Lovely."

And despite the knowledge of her presence behind him, he drifted off easily.

* * *

Crowley woke to a sharp jab in the back.

"Wake up," Aziraphale hissed. "Your feet are freezing."

They didn't feel freezing to him, wedged as they were between Aziraphale’s calves. 

She shoved at him until he withdrew and sat up. 

"God, I slept like the dead," he said, scrubbing at his face and ignoring Aziraphale's attempts to push away his feet.

"Your toes are like icicles," she groused, finally giving up and tucking her legs so she was sitting up. "How do you even sleep if they get that cold?"

Crowley shrugged and swung himself out of bed to restart the fire. "You get used to it."

When he looked back, Aziraphale had her arms around her knees, golden hair spilling over her shoulders. She yawned and rubbed at her face.

"What are we doing today?"

Crowley crawled back in bed to avail himself of the heat of the blankets, purposefully sticking his toes under Aziraphale's feet. She yelped and hit him with a spare pillow.

Taking pity on her, he retreated and tucked the blankets around his feet.

"Stop looking so pleased with yourself for being rude," Aziraphale said with a dismissive sniff. 

"I was thinking," Crowley began, purposefully ignoring her. "That we could go to the shops. See the sights.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went distant and happy, the sun catching in the irises and highlighting flecks of gold. "Oh, that does sound lovely.”

"Loads to see in London,” Crowley said, heart beating hard for some strange reason.

“No time like the present. I’ll just wash up,” Aziraphale declared as she hopped out of bed. Then, she disappeared behind the screen in the corner of the room and Crowley heard the sound of splashing water in the basin and smelled the rising scent of lavender soap. He tried not to think about Aziraphale rubbing herself down with a meager screen between them.

Instead he thought about how unfortunate it was that she would no longer smell of lemon.

* * *

London was lovely. A bit smelly but lovely.

There were people and shops and things to see and Crowley seemed happy enough to follow her wherever she fancied. Happy might have been the wrong word. He didn't seem to mind at least. Nary a negative comment passed his lips since they stepped out into the cool autumn air.

Which was all well and good because Aziraphale wanted to enjoy herself. 

They'd stopped at a shop where Aziraphale had perhaps overindulged and bought three whole books. Crowley had raised his eyes at the price and Aziraphale had explained how rare the volumes were and rushed to say that they weren't entirely necessary but he waved off her concerns.

"Don't care how much it is," Crowley had said, already paying and gesturing for the shopkeeper to wrap it up. "I just didn't know books could be that expensive."

No other comments were made, the books were sent back to their rooms, and Aziraphale felt a tiny, bright spot of joy bubble up inside her. She was allowed to want things, to like things, even if they were expensive or strange. There was no Gabriel to wag his finger or find fault.

As they fell into step on the street, Aziraphale spotted a small fabric store with bright displays of ribbons and dragged Crowley over to it. He grumbled and harrumphed, but let her.

* * *

Crowley poked at a display of feathers. Not exactly to his taste.

Aziraphale rummaged through some ribbons behind him and held up a long strip of something black. "What about this?" she asked.

Crowley abandoned the feather display and returned to her side. He wasn't the only man accompanying their wife in the shop but he was certain he was the most comfortable surrounded by the trappings of femininity. 

He plucked the ribbon from Aziraphale's hand. Gray with stitched black leaves. "Thought you didn't like dark colors," he mused. 

"Well, it's not for me," she said, like it was obvious.

Crowley dropped the ribbon. She was fast enough to catch it. Threading it through her fingers, the silk caught in the light like water and she hummed in consideration. "I thought it would look nice with that black ball gown. Don't you?"

Crowley's tongue was too big and too dry. Was she just talking about this? Distantly, he noted she managed not to mention the gown was his in any way. Just not hers.

She wanted to buy him _ribbons_.

He coughed into his fist. "Yes, uh, you’re right. But what about you?"

Aziraphale looked over the display and frowned. "I don't think I have any dresses that would suit things as fine as these."

"Then we should fix that."

Blinking up at him with wide eyes, Aziraphale rushed to say, "Oh, I wasn't trying to imply anything. I don't need new dresses."

Crowley brushed his knuckles over the back of Aziraphale's hand, as much a comforting gesture as would be appropriate in broad daylight in the middle of the shops in London. Physical affection wasn’t exactly the _done thing_ but she sounded so anxious that Crowley had to do something to stay the flood of words.

"One of the benefits of being married, isn't it? Buying all sorts of new, fine things?" Crowley teased. 

Aziraphale began to turn pink and bustled away to buy her ribbon. _Crowley's_ ribbon.

He resolved to make an appointment with a dressmaker for the very next day. Aziraphale deserved fine things. He wanted to buy her as many dresses as she wanted and then some.

They were on their way back to their lodgings to change for supper and Crowley was in unaccountably high spirits—most likely the fine weather—when someone called his name.

He recognized the accent immediately. Anathema.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face her and ignored Aziraphale's questioning expression.

Newt trailed behind Anathema and Crowley knew immediately how this interaction was about to go. 

"Miss Device," Crowley said with a short inclination of his head. Anathema arched a brow at the formality. "Mr. Pulsifer. This is my...wife."

"Please call me Aziraphale," she said, giving Crowley a strange look as she stepped forward. His skin prickled with discomfort.

Newt looked between the two of them with wide eyes and Anathema seemed happy to smirk. Dearly wishing the earth would open up and swallow him, Crowley said, "It’s been quite some time. How are you?"

"I’m well," Anathema said, playing along with his forced manners but obviously not liking it. "Are you coming to my party next week? You haven't been in ages."

"Party?" Aziraphale chirped, eyes lighting up. Crowley hated every second of this. Why was it happening? Shit luck. Awful luck. 

"No," Crowley ground out, trying to kill Anathema with his eyes. "I'm afraid business won't allow it."

Anathema and Newt exchanged a look that said they thought he was a big liar, but didn’t press. Not that it mattered. It was so obvious that even Aziraphale must have picked up on it. He knew he was going to be in for a questioning the minute they got back to their rooms.

"It was nice to see you. If you're in London long, you should stop by," Anathema said. "You're always welcome."

"Quite," Crowley said with a false smile.

And they parted ways.

The minute they were inside their rented flat Aziraphale whirled on him.

"Do you hate those people?" she demanded.

"What? No. They're my friends,” Crowley said, taking off his hat and coat. 

"You most certainly treated them as if you hate them," Aziraphale admonished, tearing off her bonnet. "You have to call and apologize to them."

Crowley waved off her concerns. “They know me. They know I’m uncomfortable talking to them in front of—in public."

Aziraphale froze, jacket half unbuttoned. "You were going to say in front of me, weren't you?"

"Not _you,_ ” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “Anyone."

"But I'm not anyone. I'm your wife."

"Aziraphale," Crowley began, feeling the conversation begin to slip.

"I thought we were doing better!" Aziraphale said and her eyes started to shine in a way that Crowley knew meant anger was not far behind. "That you trusted me."

"I do! But these people, Anathema and Newt, they know about the dresses and the rest of it and I just don’t...I don’t mix that up with the rest of my life."

"But I know about those things as well," Aziraphale insisted.

"Yes but I didn't want you to," Crowley said and immediately regretted it when Aziraphale flinched back, expression shuttering.

"Right," she said, looking at her feet. She cleared throat. “Right.

She went into the bedroom and shut the door behind her in a way that made it infinitely clear Crowley was not to follow.

Crowley collapsed in the chair by the fire and swore. 

And it had been such a good day.

* * *

Aziraphale couldn't focus on her book but that was no surprise given how angry she was. Crowley had ruined their day by being a complete arse.

It was probably difficult, having a big secret and she wanted to be understanding about it all, but he was being _rude_.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she'd let her anger ruin their planned meal. 

There was a knock at the door that was surely Crowley. Aziraphale weighed the pros and cons of letting him in and finally decided being childish wasn't worth it.

The door eased open and revealed a sheepish looking Crowley bearing a tray of fine-looking nibbles.

He handed it to her in bed and fidgeted awkwardly in the corner while she ate some of the bread.

"What?" she asked when he didn’t start speaking immediately.

"I've never introduced anyone to that group of friends," he said with an awkward grimace. Crowley might be talking but he clearly didn't want to be. "I don't know how."

Aziraphale crunched into an apple slice and considered that. "I don't think you need to be rude about it."

"You’re...you’re right."

Very pleased at that, Aziraphale continued to eat in silence until Crowley said.

"There is—Anathema is having a small dinner party at her country house next week. We can go. If you'd like."

Aziraphale's eyes snapped Crowley's. "But is it—"

"Yes, it's that sort of party,” Crowley confirmed. He looked so terribly nervous that Aziraphale had to relent.

"You don't have to take me," she said. "That's not at all what I meant. I just didn't want you to be ashamed of me."

"Ashamed of you? Why would I be ashamed of you?"

Aziraphale raised her eyebrows, struggling to believe Crowley was so dense. "I'm the unwanted and _old_ bride that your family forced you to take. Hardly someone you could be proud to show your friends. You didn’t even want to introduce me to your friends on the street."

Crowley crossed the room and crawled onto the bed to take one of her hands despite the sticky apple residue remaining from her barely-started dinner. "That's bollocks. You're coming to the party and I'm telling everyone who you are." He scoffed. "Ashamed of you. You're an idiot."

Aziraphale snatched her hand back and slapped at his arm. "You're miserable at apologies."

"Well," Crowley said, struggling to come up with a retort. "You're…you’re..."

Aziraphale raised her eyebrows expectantly. Nothing was forthcoming so she turned back to her supper and was only mildly peeved when Crowley snatched an apple slice.

When she finally finished eating, she took the tray and set it by the door before returning to the bed just as Crowley was vacating it. 

"I can take the sofa," he said with an awkward twitch of his mouth. Always so nervous, Crowley was.

"Nonsense," Aziraphale said. "Your toes would freeze right off."

Crowley turned his back to her as he undressed and when he got in bed, she lifted her calves so he could stick his feet under them. They weren't quite icicles yet and she thought she might be able to keep the cold at bay for once.

"Would you like me to read," Aziraphale offered. It was still early for sleep, but she was beginning to understand Crowley was very fond of his rest.

Crowley turned his head on the pillow. "Out loud?"

"Yes, out loud," she said with a roll of her eyes.

He shrugged. "Why not?"

With that ringing endorsement, she read aloud until Crowley drifted off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021!!!!!
> 
> Some CWs for this chapter: Aziraphale misgenders Crowley for a short period of time in her inner monologue before Crowley comes out to her, some internalized transphobia on Crowley's part, also we see Aziraphale register a lot of shock when she encounters queer lifestyle for the first time and I hope it just reads as surprise for someone who has been sheltered and not as judgment but I'll warn here anyway

As promised, Crowley took her to the dressmaker’s and told her to pick anything she liked which was a rather overwhelming proposition. 

"But there's...so much," she said, looking about the various bolts of fabric and lace samples and ribbons finer than those they had seen the day before. "I wouldn't even know where to start. Most of my life I've worn white."

"Your wedding dress was blue," Crowley said at her shoulder. It was strange how much heat the man radiated given how cold his toes got at night. Pulse fluttering, she shifted away from him, discomfited by his proximity.

"Yes," she said with a thready laugh, "but barely."

Crowley didn't seem to hear her, already flitting to another thing. "You have that yellow bonnet that complements your complexion. And pink of course suits you. You said red is no good, but I do think you should try something in that family."

Aziraphale tugged on his elbow to get him to slow down. "I’m—Crowley, it would be too much."

Pausing in his perusal of the fabrics on offer, Crowley frowned. "Perhaps red would be a bit much. We might clash. You can stick to blues. They look better on you anyway."

Aziraphale didn't know what to say as she was introduced to the dressmaker and before she knew it, she was fairly certain a new gown and several day dresses were in her future. Crowley looked quite like the cat that got the cream after they left.

"What's with that look?" she asked as they made their way back to the hotel. The sun was shining and with Crowley smirking like that, she felt rather warm indeed.

"Nothing," Crowley said with a shrug. “A good day don’t you think?”

Aziraphale supposed it was a rather good day.

* * *

London wasn’t so bad, Crowley decided, when the company was good. He sent a note to Anathema apologizing for his strange behavior and making excuses for being unable to visit while in town. She sent back a letter with a few choice phrases implying exactly what she thought Crowley and his new wife were getting up to in their London flat.

He promptly burned the letter.

He didn’t need such insinuations when he was indeed sharing a bed every night with his wife and was very aware of what such an arrangement would typically entail. Instead their arrangement was just Aziraphale lifting up her calves so he could put his feet beneath them while she read aloud from whatever book she was in the middle of. It was nice, it was platonic, and Crowley was very much trying to hide his inconvenient morning response to a warm, soft body in the bed beside him. Particularly Aziraphale’s body which had played a specific role in his fantasies for weeks now.

Their time outside their lodgings was spent shopping and despite the cool autumn air, seeing the parks in central London. Aziraphale’s excitement was contagious. She exclaimed over the swans in St. James, the lovely colors of the leaves in the trees. Crowley was not nearly as enthused, but it was difficult to frown in the face of her smiles.

And then, on their last day in London they went to a gallery. Aziraphale had admitted her family had rather restricted taste in art.

“Gabriel always said art existed to glorify God,” Aziraphale explained when Crowley proposed the idea of going to such a place.

Crowley scoffed. “There’s all sorts of reasons to make art. God’s hardly the only one.”

“I thought so, but I wasn’t about to argue with Gabriel about it,” Aziraphale said and that had been that.

Many of the paintings in the gallery still had to do with God. Crowley couldn’t deny that. Though many were much more provocative. Aziraphale scurried past those with her eyes averted. Apparently naked nymphs in suggestive positions were too much for her.

They came to a stop in front of a large rendition of a heavenly scene, angels scattered among the clouds, playing harps and lounging, all draped in white and gold.

"Would this have met Gabriel’s standards for _glorification_?" Crowley said into Aziraphale's ear. He put a bit of edge into the words so she’d know he was teasing.

She shifted her weight, angling closer to him, tucking her chin to whisper in the quiet of the gallery. "I'm fairly certain he would have said they were far too hedonistic to be a realistic representation."

"Downright offensive, they are," Crowley said with a sympathetic pout.

Aziraphale rolled her eyes and Crowley circled behind her, coming to a stop on her left side. One of the angels in the painting was reclined on a bed of clouds, their robes a soft blue in the ambiguous lighting. Their blonde hair was curled perfectly by their cheeks which were a cherubic pink.

Crowley pointed to it. "That one looks like you."

Aziraphale drew in a shocked breath, loud in the muffled gallery. "Excuse me?"

"Oh please, I can't be the first to say you look like an angel. Blonde hair, pink-cheeked, soft face."

This was like running yourself into the ground, wasn't it? Tossing yourself into a lake and drowning. Aziraphale stared at him, and her face was going red. 

"No…uh...you'd be—you'd be the first."

Trying to salvage himself, the situation, anything, everything, Crowley nudged her with his elbow and said, "Does that embarrass you... _angel_?"

Teasing was always a surefire way out.

Aziraphale spluttered. "Crowley!"

"Yes? Did you need something...angel?"

He gave her a shit-eating grin.

"We are leaving," she huffed as she stomped away.

"Don't go, _mon ange_. You break my heart," he cried dramatically and Aziraphale shot him a look so venomous he couldn't help but laugh. Other patrons were frowning at their behavior but Crowley didn't care. He liked how red Aziraphale was turning. Apparently, if she blushed hard enough, her chest began to turn red.

Crowley, unfortunately, was going to think about that _a lot._

* * *

One of Aziraphale's dresses arrived five days later. It was so quick, she couldn't imagine what exorbitant fee Crowley had paid to get it completed. She also didn't understand why.

Crowley had been busy in the greenhouse since they had returned from London. Something about the changing seasons being a tender time for some of the plants. Aziraphale didn't understand and she was back in the kitchen trying to fix whatever had gone wrong with her scones to no avail so they hadn’t seen each other very much since returning.

They'd gone back to their separate bedrooms. Aziraphale was loath to admit she rather missed Crowley's cold toes. The bed was just so big and empty. She had no one to read to. No one to laugh with as the candle guttered out.

Though being alone did have its perks. Namely, finding some release for the nameless tension that had been growing inside her since going to London.

She was definitely getting better with her fingers.

So the dress arrived while Crowley was in the greenhouse, leaving Aziraphale to receive it with some confusion alongside a few other boxes which she brought upstairs to open.

She remembered selecting the powder blue satin, Crowley had agreed it was a lovely color and she had realized his sense of fashion was much better than hers. But the fine gold embroidery, and the delicate lace? Those details were not ones she recalled discussing. 

Then she opened the other boxes to find jewelry. Gold and pearls. Not gaudy in presentation and yet there was so much that Aziraphale found herself overwhelmed.

With a strand of pearls in her fist, she left the house, not even retrieving her shawl before marching to the greenhouse. She threw open the door only to find Crowley wrist deep in soil and muttering angrily to a frond.

He looked up and frowned. “What?” he snapped then shook his head. “Sorry. The plants are being difficult and they _know better_.”

He turned and shook the dirt from his fingers just as Aziraphale held up the string of pearls. “Crowley, what is this?”

“Oh, it came? Did they all come?” Crowley asked, rubbing his hands on a scrap of fabric. He’d shed his jacket and waistcoat at some point and was just in his shirt. His sleeves were rolled up and there was something oddly pleasing about the flex of his arms as he cleaned his hands. 

“Did you buy the whole store?” Aziraphale replied. An odd, frustrated heat built inside her as she spoke. “I can hardly wear all of it. Please tell me some is for you.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Nah. Don’t go in much for jewels. Thought the pearls would look nice on you.”

All the frustration blew out of Aziraphale like one long exhalation. “Crowley, it’s too much. I can’t—I can’t keep it.”

He cocked his hip against one of the garden tables and crossed his arms over his chest, looking very unimpressed indeed. “Tell me. Are you saying that because you actually don’t want any of it or because you think you shouldn’t?”

Aziraphale looked at the pearls in her palm. “I’ve never...it seems wasteful.”

“Why don’t you wear some to Anathema’s party on Friday and then decide?” Crowley said.

“Anathema’s party?” Aziraphale asked, confused. “I thought you weren’t going.”

Crowley frowned. “You told me we should go.”

“I didn’t think you listened!” Aziraphale retorted.

“Do you not want to go?”

“Of course I do!”

“Are we fighting right now?’ Crowley asked, frown turning to genuine confusion.

“No,” Aziraphale huffed and looked away. “I’m...you bought me all these nice things and want to take me to this dinner party and I’m—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes?” Crowley offered. He pushed himself off the table and crossed the room. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I like to think so,” Aziraphale said, softening. She couldn’t help but think of their relationship at the very beginning, not speaking, avoiding each other and here they were now. It was almost unbelievable. They lived together so easily now. They shared meals and conversation. There was a growing happiness found in their easy companionship. She almost couldn’t imagine her life without it.

“Then come with me. You said you wanted to see what it’s like, meet my friends. This is the place.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Alright. I’ll go.”

“That’s my angel,” Crowley said with another of his stupid, handsome grins.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Aziraphale said, shaking her pearls at him before leaving Crowley to his plants.

* * *

Crowley adjusted the bodice of her dress for the third time. She liked this set of stays because it came with a slightly padded bosom. Not enough to be gauche but enough to make her figure more feminine. It looked best under her dark burgundy dress.

It might have been silly to be so dreadfully nervous. Aziraphale had seen her in a dress. But she hadn't seen _her_. Not Crowley prepared to be Miss Ashtoreth. Not ready for a party. It was different and, ridiculous as it was, Crowley wanted it to be right.

The week between the decision to attend the party and the party itself had passed easily. Aziraphale had been so excited. Crowley _liked_ when Aziraphale was excited. She could have told Aziraphale the truth of the matter at any point and had simply avoided it because she didn’t know how exactly to explain. Besides, she had reasoned, it hardly mattered if Aziraphale attended a party with her and still saw her as a man in a dress. Sometimes she _was_ a man in a dress. It didn’t matter.

Aziraphale knocked at the door to her bedroom and Crowley swallowed hard. Best get to it. Standing around sweating wasn’t getting her anywhere.

"Come in," she said and closed her eyes. 

Aziraphale poked her head inside. "Do you want me to help you with your hair?"

She held up the ribbons they had purchased in London and smiled at Crowley like nothing whatsoever had changed. Like she saw Crowley in a dress every day. 

"I was hoping you might help me as well," Aziraphale admitted. "I always have trouble with the back. I can never pin the curls up right."

Aziraphale came inside and Crowley's breath caught in her throat. She wore the powder blue gown Crowley had helped her pick out, the gold embroidery matched the fine chain she wore about her neck. Her hair was still down. 

"Ngk, guh. Yes, of course I can help," Crowley stammered out, finally moving. Aziraphale bullied her into the chair in front of the vanity and when she looked in the mirror she saw how red her face was. She was a transparent fool apparently. 

Aziraphale ran her fingers through Crowley's hair and hummed. "Your hair is so lovely. Did you know how you wanted it done?"

Crowley shook her head, struggling to find her voice. Aziraphale’s hands were distracting. Gentle and sure. "Um, no. I usually, um, I just pin it to make it look like there's more of it."

Tilting her head to the side in consideration, Aziraphale gathered the strands of Crowley's hair and pulled it back over her ears. "I can certainly do that. Then how about a ribbon across the top? I think you'd look very pretty."

Crowley wanted to slam her head down on the vanity and scream. Aziraphale was…

"That's fine," Crowley said, fisting her hands in her skirt.

"Lovely," Aziraphale said with an excited bounce on her toes. She gathered Crowley's hair with gentle touches, carefully pinning it in place to emphasize the natural waves just as she wound the ribbon through her hair.

Crowley couldn't tear her eyes off Aziraphale in the mirror, the little purse of her lips as she focused, the tiny sounds like she was half speaking to herself. Aziraphale was going to be a distraction all night at this rate.

Finally, she rested her hands on Crowley’s shoulders and smiled at her in the mirror. She’d left out a strand of hair on either side of her face, delicately curled. It softened the masculine curve of her jaw in a way that Crowley had never been able to manage on her own. The rest was pinned back and woven with ribbons.

Crowley touched it carefully. “Thanks, angel. Your turn?”

Aziraphale tugged at the ends of her own curls and nodded nervously. “I was thinking you could...put the pearls in it?”

Crowley grinned, beyond pleased Aziraphale was even considering using any one of the things they had bought. Aziraphale was altogether too modest. Probably shite she’d learned from her family. Deciding she didn’t deserve nice things. Bollocks to that and then some.

“Course, angel. Sit down.”

They traded places and Crowley realized she had made a grave miscalculation as she began to brush Aziraphale’s hair. Her eyes drifted shut as Crowley ran the brush over her the ends of individual curls.

“Oh, that’s lovely. I haven’t had anyone brush my hair in quite some time,” Aziraphale said, relaxing back against her as Crowley began to pin the strands up. 

It was having her hands in Aziraphale’s hair that was beginning to have an effect on her. She wanted to tip her head back and kiss her, bury her hands in that gorgeous hair, pull her up and press her against the vanity until she was gasping for more.

Fuck and hell and shit.

Crowley swallowed and threaded the pearls into the strands. Aziraphale was leaning back against her and if she happened to think too much about kissing her, it would be _very_ noticeable.

“So, Miss Device. How do you know her?” Aziraphale asked, eyes still shut as Crowley worked. That was good. Crowley could look her fill and not have Aziraphale get suspicious. 

“I did business with her grandmother,” Crowley said. “And if you call her Miss Device, she will laugh at you. Anathema’s her name.”

“Anathema,” Aziraphale repeated. “Interesting name.”

“Says _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley teased and Aziraphale blew a raspberry at her.

“And Mr. Pulsifer?”

“Newt,” Crowley corrected. “Or Newton but everyone calls him Newt. Met him at school.”

“And have you two ever…” Aziraphale waggled her fingers suggestively and opened her eyes.

Crowley coughed awkwardly. “Um. Not...um, not really. We got drunk once and, um. It didn’t go very far.”

“So just…” And Aziraphale made a gesture like she was wanking someone off and Crowley thought she might die.

“No! Aziraphale, where’d you learn that? We kissed a bit. That’s it.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said and she didn’t even have the gall to look embarrassed.

“It was ages ago. He’s with Anathema now.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she said and Crowley got back to work on her hair, ignoring the strange sting of disappointment she felt. It wasn’t as if she wanted Aziraphale to be jealous. 

Not at all.

* * *

Aziraphale had been looking forward to the party all week but the minute they stepped out of the carriage Anathema had sent, nerves settled hot in her stomach. She was going to meet Crowley’s friends. People who knew him better than her. Who he’d potentially slept with, kissed. She felt rather faint thinking about it.

Crowley was stalwart by her elbow. Aziraphale had thought Crowley looked nice in his red dress that night she had confronted him so many months ago, but that hadn’t been Crowley ready for an evening out. No. This Crowley was resplendent. He was beautiful with his hair done perfectly and his made up face. His manners had also changed. Aziraphale could hardly explain it, but he had somehow softened. The harsh angles of Crowley had gentled and smoothed. It was mesmerizing.

"Aziraphale!" someone cried just as they stepped inside Anathema’s house, a well-appointed place. Crowley had mentioned something about Anathema being independently wealthy. American. 

It was that same woman they had run into on the streets of London so it must be their host. She grabbed Aziraphale by the hands.

"I'm so glad you could make it," she said and Aziraphale, to her surprise, thought she meant it. Then she turned her eyes on Crowley, a sharp smirk descending on her pretty face. "And Miss Ashtoreth, I was worried we'd seen the last of you."

Crowley's cheeks pinked. "I didn't exactly expect Aziraphale to be alright with all this."

Aziraphale stared at him. Her? Anathema had referred to Crowley as Miss Ashtoreth and the epithet fit. Now that they were here, Crowley moved differently, spoke differently. Thinking of her as a woman made sense.

Aziraphale resolved to ask Crowley about it.

"Well, we are very glad to have you back," Anathema said decisively before looping her arm through Aziraphale’s. “And I am _very_ glad to meet you. Crowley made it seem like getting married was the end of the world.”

“To be fair, we both thought it would be quite awful,” Aziraphale said, trying to communicate with her eyes to Crowley that she had no idea what to say. This woman was being so friendly. Would all these people be so friendly? There were rules!

“And is it awful?” Anathema asked conspiratorially 

“No?” Aziraphale choked out, already being dragged to the drawing room. She was fairly certain Newt and Crowley were still behind them, but too many things were happening at once. 

The drawing room itself was larger than Crowley’s, much more well decorated with more lavish furniture. It was clear Anathema liked to entertain. There were already people milling about, chatting over drinks, and the structure and formality Aziraphale expected from a dinner party was entirely nonexistent. The men and women were standing too close together for decency. Aziraphale reeled at the sight.

“A full house then?” Crowley asked as Anathema got them drinks. Aziraphale wondered how fast it was too fast to drink her wine. 

She ended up by the window with Crowley where she immediately asked, “Miss Ashtoreth?”

Crowley grimaced, mouth twisting. He _was_ nervous. “Yeah, that’s...they call me that when I…”

“Do you want me to call you that?” Aziraphale asked, trying her best to keep her tone neutral. There was a man wearing stays instead of a waistcoat standing by the pianoforte and Aziraphale could not fathom what was going on and she had so many questions.

“No, it’s—I’m still Crowley.”

“When you told me about this,” Goodness, the man in the stays was holding hands with another man and they looked like they might kiss. On the mouth! In front of people! “You said you liked dresses. But—I have no idea how to ask this, but when you come to these parties are you also a woman? I don’t know.”

Aziraphale buried her face in her hands. She needed more wine.

Crowley touched her elbow and gently pulled one of her hands down. “It’s alright, angel. It’s all complicated. That’s why I spend time with these people. They understand how complicated it is. When I put on the dresses, I feel different. Not all the time, but enough that when I wear them and come to these parties, it’s easier to have people treat me like Miss Ashtoreth instead of Crowley. Most of them don’t even know who I am outside the dress really.”

“Except Newt and Anathema,” Aziraphale said, finally feeling like she could breathe. Crowley’s hand in hers was an anchor in the tumult.

“And a few others,” Crowley said and then he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand before releasing it. “You don’t have to treat me any differently, you know. Still your husband and all.”

“Well, how do _you_ want to be treated?” Aziraphale asked, feeling the answer might be quite important.

Crowley looked at the ground, not quick enough to hide the hopeful twitch of his lips, long russet lashes shading his cheeks. “I like being a woman. When I’m here.”

Aziraphale brushed her knuckles over the back of Crowley’s hand. “And at home. If you wear dresses?”

“Can we play it by ear?”

“Of course we can,” Aziraphale said softly.

It earned her a terse nod but she caught the end of a smile on Crowley’s face as they both turned back to the room.

“Do you think I could get another drink?” she asked when three more people she didn’t recognize came into the room.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Crowley said and Aziraphale shot her a look.

“Telling me that doesn’t help. _Drinks_ would help.”

Crowley shrugged and went in search of wine. 

Doing her best to remind herself that this was just like any other party, Aziraphale looked out the window. She had many preconceived notions of course, learned from her family and from books and from the church. She’d never thought those teachings wrong, but she had previously had the idea that they were rather narrow minded. Crowley had certainly shown her that to be true. Parties such as this, filled with people who tossed away social convention confirmed it.

She sighed and wrung her hands. She felt awfully out of place and woefully underprepared.

"You must be the new Mrs. Crowley," a kind voice said from her elbow.

She snapped to attention. The woman beside her had lurid red hair and a made up face.

"Ye—yes," she stammered and the woman's smile grew somehow kinder.

"I'm Madame Tracy," she said and Aziraphale had a feeling she meant the Madame professional. "Miss Ashtoreth and I are well-acquainted."

"Oh," Aziraphale said. Did she mean well-acquainted or _well-acquainted?_

"How are you finding the party? It can be a bit overwhelming at first. Especially for someone new."

Aziraphale's hand tightened around her empty glass. "I'm afraid I don't quite fit in."

Tracy laughed but it wasn't cruel. "That's the beauty of the thing dear. Nobody here does. That's why we all get along."

And that really was what put Aziraphale at ease. Perhaps for once she wouldn't be the only misfit in the room.

"Tracy, what are you saying to Aziraphale?" Crowley teased when she reappeared, pressing another glass of wine into Aziraphale's hand.

Tracy waved her hand as if to say _oh, nothing of consequence._ "Only making sure you're giving your wife enough orgasms, my dear."

Crowley spit her wine into her cup and Aziraphale was very thankful she had yet to take a drink.

"If Miss Ashtoreth is holding out on you, write to me,'' Tracy said with a conspiring wink thrown in Aziraphale’s direction. "I have all sorts of tools that can help you get the job done a far sight better than your right hand."

Aziraphale gaped as Tracy waggled her fingers and drifted off with a sweet "Toodles."

"Sorry about that," Crowley said, face finally losing some of its redness. "Not much proprietary with this lot."

Aziraphale took a long drink but it no longer had a desperate edge. "I think I rather like it."

* * *

"Forfeits!" Anathema cried and lifted the bin to collect her tributes. "Bring your forfeits!"

Crowley groaned beside her on the couch.

"Forfeits?" Aziraphale asked, confused at the proclamation.

They'd been having a lovely conversation with a young man named Warlock who Aziraphale had easily warmed to despite his tendency to wear women's undergarments as outerwear.

"It's a game. Didn't you play parlor games?"

Aziraphale turned pink. "Like blind man's bluff? Gabriel always said parlor games were an excuse for lechery and flirtation."

Crowley grinned at her in a way that only made her blush harder. "Turns out Gabriel’s right about a few things."

Various people in the room were divesting themselves of trousers or shirts, tossing articles of clothing or jewelry into the offered box. Anathema came to a stop in front of them and shook it.

"Well?"

Aziraphale, gathering the gist of the thing quickly, tossed in her gold necklace. Crowley raised her eyebrows and silently added one of her gloves. Anathema smirked at her. God only knew why.

"What happens now?" Aziraphale hissed in Crowley’s ear but the question was moot because Anathema began to explain.

"For those who are new or perhaps if you've forgotten, the rules are simple, a judge shall be appointed," Anathema announced. Someone in the room whooped. "When your forfeit is selected you must step forward and the judge will give you a task to complete. It's up to them to decide if you did it successfully. If you fail or choose not to complete the task for any reason, you must perform a penalty at the judges discretion."

The small crowd tittered. Anathema grinned and pushed up her spectacles. 

"Since we missed his birthday, I vote Adam as first judge. All in favor?"

The room was a chorus of ayes and a young man stepped forward. He was a handsome thing with a mop of burnished gold curls. 

"Alright, alright, you've convinced me," he said, taking a seat in the center of the room in a chair Anathema produced. 

Anathema withdrew something from the box. A handkerchief. A young woman in breeches stepped forward.

"Pepper," Adam said with the sort of intense gravity that made Aziraphale certain they were very good friends.

"Hellspawn," she replied.

He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. "You must behave as a dog and only as a dog for the next...quarter hour."

Pepper rolled her eyes but got her knees and barked.

Aziraphale put her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh but it seemed alright because most of the room was giggling.

Adam waved his hand. "Next forfeit, if you please."

It went on like that for quite some time. Pepper successfully pleased Adam and escaped punishment. Newt refused to lick the walls of the drawing room and had to take off his shirt. 

Aziraphale drank her wine and laughed and generally enjoyed herself as Crowley explained who was who and the occasional familiar jokes she didn't understand. 

Then Anathema retrieved Aziraphale's necklace from the box and pleasantly tipsy Aziraphale took her place in front of Adam.

"Oh, the new wife of Miss Ashtoreth!" Adam said, delighted and, feeling playful, Aziraphale curtsied as low as she was able.

“Milord.”

The room laughed and it was warm and welcoming and Aziraphale glowed under the attention.

"Welcome to our little group," Adam said magnanimously. "Now what to do with you…"

Aziraphale stood quietly while he deliberated. 

"I know!" He clapped his hands. "I don’t think you’ve greeted everyone. Bestow a kiss upon everyone in this room."

Aziraphale's stomach swooped with nerves and she could already feel her face heating. She must have hesitated for a bit too long because Adam sat back in his chair and said, "Or you could forfeit and face my judgment."

Aziraphale squared her shoulders. No. She was having a lovely time and all these people were friendly and Crowley was here. It would hardly get out of hand.

She took two steps forward and gave Adam a chaste kiss. He grinned. "That’s one."

Then she kissed Anathema who tasted of cinnamon. Madame Tracy offered her her cheek and said, "Wouldn't want to get rogue on you, love." 

Warlock scrunched up his face in distaste but took the kiss without complaint. It turned into a whirlwind, being passed from person to person, too fast to think, brief kisses pecked on her lips, all chaste and soft and followed by smiles and laughs. It was _fun_.

Finally, she stumbled back into the middle of the room, feeling a bit breathless. "How did I do?"

Adam laughed. "I think you forgot your wife."

Crowley was still sitting on the sofa they had occupied together. She looked shocked, almost exactly as Aziraphale felt. Aziraphale's pulse hammered in her throat.

"Oh goodness, you're right."

Dizzy with kisses, Aziraphale's feet carried her to the sofa so that her knees brushed Crowley's. Crowley tilted her chin back to look at her, eyes wide. 

Aziraphale leaned down and kissed her, that same chaste kiss she’d shared with everyone else and someone behind them said, "What sort of kiss is that? Miss Ashtoreth has lost her touch."

Someone replied, "Is it Mrs. Ashtoreth now?"

Aziraphale didn't like that the implication that her presence meant Crowley was _different_ now and the feeling from before, from when she was in front of Adam. That euphoria of the party, the giddiness of drink pushed her to cup Crowley's face with her hands and deepen the kiss, parting her lips so they could share breath. Their mouths brushed together once and then again more firmly as Crowley's arm snaked around her waist and tugged, pulling Aziraphale into her lap.

"Now that's more what I'd expect," the voice from before said.

Aziraphale wondered idly what sort of things Crowley used to get up to at these parties that seeing her tug a woman into her lap seemed _normal_.

* * *

Watching Aziraphale be paraded around the room and kissed was not Crowley’s idea of a good time. The feeling roiling in her stomach was not jealousy, thank you very much. She was not thinking about the perfunctory wedding night kisses they had shared. How many had it been? One? Two? 

Crowley fisted her hand in her skirt and tried to breathe through the swirl of nerves and anticipation that meant Aziraphale was going to kiss _her_. After all, she was someone in the room. It would be fine. It would have to be fine. They were married and had kissed before and fucked before and who was Crowley kidding? That made it worse.

Except, Aziraphale didn’t kiss her. Not until Adam reminded her.

It was a soft thing and Crowley expected that to be it. Not that it mattered, the blood roaring in her ears made it feel like nothing else existed, but then Aziraphale pressed in for a second kiss and Crowley’s heart hammered against her ribs and she clutched at Aziraphale’s waist, forget the fact that the whole room was watching them. Someone in the room hooted something obscene as Crowley tugged her into her lap ready to deepen the kiss and that’s when she pulled away. 

She grinned at Crowley like they were both in on some joke and not at all like Crowley’s heart was in her throat because Crowley’s rouge had stained Aziraphale’s perfect pink mouth. 

“I’d say you earned your forfeit,” Adam crowed and Anathema handed Aziraphale back her gold necklace. Crowley couldn’t stop staring at her mouth, that red mark evidence that Aziraphale had kissed her. Aziraphale held up the chain like bounty for a kill and grinned wide before squirming out of Crowley’s lap and dropping onto the seat beside her.

The room was already moving on to the next participant as Aziraphale said, "That was wonderful."

Grinning, Aziraphale's eyes locked with hers and she frowned. "Oh, your rouge," she said before brushing her thumb under Crowley's bottom lip. "I ruined it."

More than anything, Crowley wanted to seize her wrist, draw that thumb into her mouth. Except she couldn’t do that. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and touched up the lines of her mouth before offering it to Aziraphale. "You have…"

Aziraphale's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, I suppose that makes sense."

She took the scrap of fabric and then paused. "What do you think?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes playfully. "Does it suit me?"

Crowley's heart beat harder in her chest than seemed natural as she replied quietly, "Yes."

But Aziraphale wasn't listening. She was already swiping the rouge from her mouth and laughing at the next players antics. 

As they rode home in the carriage several hours later, Aziraphale nodding off against her shoulder, the dirtied handkerchief in Crowley's hand should not have felt like a revelation and yet somehow it still did.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - I've kept the chapter count at 15 BUT I think it might shake out at 12-13 just due to pacing. I wanted to give y'all a heads up in advance. I'll know more as I continue to edit out.
> 
> Shout out to Val here, they outdid themself on the art in this chapter really.
> 
> CW for Gabriel. He sucks ass. A bit of a self doubt spiral in this chapter and negative self talk.

_Write to me and we can schedule a visit at your earliest convenience._

_Your dearest brother,_

_Gabriel_

Aziraphale put down the letter on the breakfast table with a groan and bit into her scone. "What do you think he would do if I said never, never would be quite convenient?"

"I already told you that you can tell him to fuck right off," Crowley said, casually gesturing with his fork. Aziraphale thought the bit of cold ham on the end didn’t do much to illustrate his point.

"I cannot tell my brother to...to…"

"Don't hurt yourself, angel."

Aziraphale huffed and piled more cream onto her scone. “I just don’t know why he wants to visit at all. I know he was glad to be rid of me and he made it perfectly clear he doesn’t like you.”

“Again, you can tell him no. Hell, _I’ll_ tell him no.”

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale said. She picked up the letter and read the final paragraph once more. “Perhaps a short visit at the end of November. To satisfy his curiosity or whatever ridiculous thing has caused him to suddenly write to me."

In the month since Anathema’s party, she and Crowley had only grown in their comfort with each other. Aziraphale had begun to understand what people meant when they referred to the depth of affection between siblings or bosom friends. She’d never had anything like it in her life and she marveled at how much happiness it brought. How much comfort. Crowley listened to her, genuinely listened, even to silly concerns about what may happen next in her novel or if she should consider floral wallpaper for the library or if that would be distracting. And he sought her counsel in business and, apparently, valued her input in selecting next season's plants for the greenhouse. 

For the first time in Aziraphale's life, she felt as if no one expected anything of her whatsoever and she cherished it.

Of course, the arrival of Gabriel would bring with it fear of reprisal and a return to old ways. She would need to be on her best behavior at all times. Pretending. Deferring to his opinions. It was going to be awful.

It was settled that Gabriel would visit the last week of November for six days. Far too long a visit, Crowley had grumbled and Aziraphale secretly agreed but she was trying to be positive about the whole awful business. 

"We have to hire a manservant," Aziraphale declared suddenly, two nights before his scheduled arrival.

Crowley looked up from his dinner and frowned. "Why?"

"Gabriel will absolutely not manage by himself."

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Crowley sighed and sat back. "Perhaps Anathema has someone we can hire on for a few days."

Thankfully, she did and when Gabriel arrived, the poor lad was barely settled but seemed happy enough for the extra wages. 

Aziraphale barely slept the night before her brother's arrival, going over every inch of the house and knowing exactly what Gabriel would remark upon. It would be disastrous. Awful. She was going to cry at least twice but hopefully alone after Gabriel had gone to bed and no one would be the wiser.

"Aziraphale!" Gabriel said with a huge smile as he disembarked the carriage. His breath bloomed in the cool air and his boots crunched on the walk as he approached Aziraphale and Crowley. He came to a stop in front of his sister and looked her up and down. "You certainly look...robust."

Aziraphale chose to ignored the obvious and pasted on a smile. "Yes, I've settled in nicely. Crowley has been very kind."

"It's nice to see you again. Anthony,” Gabriel said with a small bow of his head.

"He prefers Crowley," Aziraphale said defensively but Crowley took her hand and squeezed as if to say, it doesn't matter. So, the conversation moved on and they showed Gabriel the house.

He hummed and made small comments about the house that got under Aziraphale's skin.

"I'm glad to see you got the library you were always after me about."

Or:

"Mr. Crowley, I see you share Aziraphale’s lack of appreciation for art. The drawing room is rather plain."

It went on forever and when they finally parted to change for supper Aziraphale escaped into Crowley's room just for the sake of not having to be alone with her thoughts.

"Six days," she groaned, resting her head on the corner post of the bed as Crowley began to undo his waistcoat.

"You invited him here," Crowley pointed out.

"That's not helpful," Aziraphale said. "You're supposed to feel sorry for me."

"Well, he's an arse. There's no denying that and I'm glad to say I don't have to pretend to like him on your account," Crowley said. He shrugged on one of his finer waistcoats, one threaded with silver that made him look thinner and a bit taller. It also made Crowley’s shoulders look nicely broad. Aziraphale leaned her head against the bedpost and sighed.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You look nice in that waistcoat," Aziraphale said simply.

Crowley looked down at himself as if he'd forgotten what he was wearing. He tugged on the bottom of the article of clothing in question and made a strange noise like he was trying to start a sentence but didn’t know what to say. He really did have very nice hands, strong fingers, broad palms. Aziraphale thought about them more than she should really. Often when she should not be thinking of them.

She cleared her throat and moved towards the door to her room. "I'll just go change as well."

"Alright," Crowley said, not meeting her eyes. "Meet you downstairs."

Aziraphale hummed her acknowledgment and scurried out of the room. She was rather aflutter suddenly, pulse hopping madly as the nerves over dinner finally began to take over.

Dinner, she was nervous over dinner.

* * *

Crowley fucking _hated_ Gabriel Fell.

He said things, all sorts of things, like they were polite observations. Easy as you please but no, they were not polite. Judgment was in every single fucking statement and almost every single one was directed at Aziraphale. She noticed most of them, but not all and it made Crowley want to wring the bastard’s neck.

Dinner was the worst of it.

Gabriel had made a comment when he arrived about Aziraphale’s appearance, something Crowley was certain was a judgment on her weight. And then at dinner, as they began to eat, he said, “Oh, I see.”

Aziraphale, kind and polite to a fault, replied, “Pardon?”

“You’re certainly eating well.”

Aziraphale put down her fork and took a sip of her wine, saying nothing, and Gabriel continued on, not noticing a thing. “I wasn’t sure you’d serve more than a single course. Since you keep so few servants.”

“We wanted you to feel welcome,” Aziraphale said with a strained smile. “And I know you’re used to better.”

“I do appreciate you hiring some help,” Gabriel said. “Even if the boy is a bit green.”

Crowley clenched his teeth and said nothing.

“What do you do after dinner?” Gabriel asked when they finally finished. The forced conversation had made it difficult for Crowley to keep his appetite but didn’t seem to stop Gabriel from eating his fill.

“Sometimes we read in the drawing room. Crowley has been teaching me chess,” Aziraphale said, a small smile flickering in Crowley’s direction like Crowley was the one in need of support.

“Ah, it’s good to improve your mind,” Gabriel observed magnanimously. “Perhaps I’ll retire early. I’m tired from the journey.”

Crowley couldn’t see him gone fast enough and when he and Aziraphale went to the drawing room for their evening drinks, as soon as the door shut, he asked, "Are you alright?"

Aziraphale collapsed on the sofa with the weight of someone completely exhausted. "Six days of this."

"I can take him out riding tomorrow. Give you a reprieve," Crowley offered even as the thought left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Would you?" Aziraphale asked hopefully, turning wide eyes on him and of course that did the trick.

"Yeah, might tire him out again." It was mostly a joke, but one could hope.

"Wouldn't that be lovely," Aziraphale quipped, rolling her eyes. A smile was creeping back onto her face and Crowley wanted to see it grow. Anything to chase off the exhaustion and tight lines of anxiety about her mouth. Aziraphale had the sort of face that deserved to be smiling.

"I could probably go into the village," he began thoughtfully. "Buy a cut of meat that's about to spoil."

Aziraphale gasped and batted at him in chastisement. "I am not going to _purposefully_ force my brother to spend the day bent over a chamber pot."

"You'd be innocent," Crowley pointed out. "I'd be doing all the work."

"I'd be complicit in your crime," Aziraphale retorted with a derisive snort.

Crowley slipped onto the sofa next to her, arm extended along the back. If he brought it down an inch, it would be around her shoulders. "He'd never know."

Aziraphale dissolved into laughter and it was perfect. Her stupid brother was upstairs, and she wasn’t thinking about the awful things he’d said. His chest was warm with the knowledge that he had cleared the storm in her expression.

"You are awful," she said as the laughter faded. "Now get the chess board. I believe I'd like to trounce you."

Happy to change the subject, Crowley obeyed.

* * *

As Gabriel discussed the benefits of keeping a well-stocked pond, Crowley pondered the benefits of knocking the man off of his horse into the water. He could probably do it in a way he wouldn't notice. Maybe.

Aziraphale would cross so he decided against it.

"You have good land," Gabriel said when they finally returned the stables and at least Gabriel knew how to handle his own horse and didn't expect some servant, or Crowley, to do it. "When did your family purchase it?"

"Ten years ago now," Crowley said. "Incentive for me to settle down."

Gabriel guffawed and clapped him on the back. "And we know how well that worked out."

"What does that mean?" Crowley asked, bristling.

"Come on, Anthony. I appreciate whatever role you're playing around my sister, but you can be honest with me. Man to man. There’s much better opportunities in the world than _Aziraphale_ for a man like you."

The prick had the audacity to grin as if they were having some sort of intimate bonding moment. Crowley wanted to throttle him. 

_If you kill him, Aziraphale will kill you_.

"I assure you " he said as evenly as he could manage, "I'm not playing any sort of part. Our life is exactly as it appears."

Except that was a lie too. They were playing at a loving, happy couple for Gabriel’s benefit and that wasn't what they were no matter what Crowley fantasized about on occasion. 

Gabriel raised his eyebrows as if detecting the deception.

Crowley excused himself before he gave anything else away. His thoughts were getting away from him.

* * *

Bless Crowley and his willingness to take Gabriel off for nearly the whole day. Aziraphale wished she were better at appreciating it. Instead she fretted what could have been peaceful hours away. Gabriel was going to say something awful. Perhaps tell Crowley that dreadful story of when she got stuck in the pond trying to rescue those kittens. Gabriel loved telling that story. 

The kittens had survived though which was more important than Aziraphale's wounded pride over looking foolish for misjudging the depth of a pond and getting stuck in the mud.

It didn't seem as if they had bonded unduly when the two men returned to the house. Crowley was as much of a thundercloud as always and Gabriel seemed as friendly as ever. Aziraphale could hardly believe she had resigned herself to grow old in the same house as her brother, watching him slurp his soup and pat his mouth and make inane comments at every turn. 

"I'd love to see this little village you wrote about Aziraphale," Gabriel said over the dessert of fresh fruit—one of Crowley's imports. Of course _that_ had gone uncommented upon even though the fruits were lovely and delicious. Gabriel never could notice the nice things.

"We can certainly go tomorrow if the weather permits," Aziraphale said with a tight smile, already calculating the length of time it would take to walk to the village, show the place and walk back.

"It sounded exactly the sort of place you'd like. Idyllic. Dull."

Crowley's fork scraped loudly against his plate, but he said nothing. Neither did Aziraphale. What was the point? Four more days of Gabriel and then hopefully a long stretch of silence. That was nothing compared to the lifetime Aziraphale had previously resigned herself to.

After that it got worse, as if Gabriel got comfortable saying whatever he pleased and Aziraphale began to consider Crowley's offer of spoiled meat.

Two nights before his departure they were all sat in the drawing room occupied in their own pursuits which Aziraphale was thankful enough for. She had been worried Gabriel would make her read the bible or he would force them to listen to his readings from some book of sermons but for one blessed moment he seemed content to entertain himself and Aziraphale was able to read her novel while Crowley did...Aziraphale honestly did not know what Crowley was doing. Playing some sort of cards by himself.

"I'm glad to see this marriage has worked out better than I imagined it would," Gabriel said apropos of nothing. He took a sip of the brandy Crowley had offered him and looked up as if expecting all eyes to be on him. They were.

"We are grateful you were willing to take Aziraphale off our hands," Gabriel said to Crowley whose hands had frozen above the cards he was playing as soon as Gabriel started speaking. They slapped down on the table at the pronouncement.

"We'd given up hope years ago that anyone would wish to wed her, and I know your parents gave you no choice in the matter, but it seems to have turned out for the best," Gabriel said decisively. “For a marriage to a spinster, it seems to have been a good match."

Aziraphale could practically hear Crowley's teeth grinding.

"I agree, Gabriel," Aziraphale said before Crowley could say anything that would start a fight. "Things have turned out rather well."

Gabriel hummed, happy to be agreed with. That really was the trick. Always agree with Gabriel, no matter what.

When they all went to bed that evening, Aziraphale didn’t expect Crowley to come into her room, seething.

“I _hate_ your brother,” he said. He’d taken off his cravat before his frustration had apparently overwhelmed him to the point of needing to vent to Aziraphale.

She pulled the blanket up higher to assure her decency though her shifts were thicker for the winter months and they _had_ shared a bed when they were in London and there was really no reason for her to feel flushed and nervous.

“Take you off your family’s hands?” he said, pulling at his hair as he paced. “Like you’re some awful burden.”

“I _was_ a burden, Crowley,” Aziraphale said quietly and her husband turned angry eyes on her.

“Don’t you dare say that. Your family had the means to care for you well into your old age and if they say otherwise it is because they are selfish and awful.”

Aziraphale knew that. Of course she did. It was still strange to hear it and it made tears prickle at her eyes. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, shaking her head. She wasn’t going to cry. She’d done so well. No tears at all in the five days Gabriel had been there.

“Bollocks to that. If they’re going to come around and say shite like this to you. Not even to start in on the comments about your intelligence and the way you look,” Crowley said. He was working himself up. It was unnecessary.

Aziraphale stood and grabbed her dressing gown, wrapping it about herself before putting out her hands toward Crowley in a soothing gesture. “It’s the way Gabriel is.”

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, Crowley groaned. “I strongly considered knocking him into the pond the other day.”

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Thought you’d be cross.”

“Next time I think you can go ahead,” Aziraphale said with a small laugh, thankful the threat of tears was finally receding.

Crowley sat on the chair by her vanity and sighed. “I can’t wait for that bastard to leave.”

“Bright and early tomorrow,” Aziraphale said with a wan smile. “That’s not too far off.”

It couldn’t come soon enough and as they stood in the drive bidding Gabriel goodbye, Aziraphale was strung tight. The entire visit had felt like slow tightening of a screw and with this the pressure would finally release.

Gabriel gave her a final bow. “I suppose you are finally lady of a house. It is good to see that.”

Aziraphale curtsied, teeth clamped shut, reminding herself not to comment, to not invite further discussion. 

He took her elbow and drew close to her, speaking in a low tone, “I’d remind your husband not to leave any bastards in his wake. You must remember you are a Fell and such a thing reflects poorly on us all. I tried to discuss it with him but he wouldn't listen to me.”

He stepped back and gave her a grin. As if he was giving her advice. Good, loving, brotherly advice. And not implying that Crowley was sleeping around behind her back. Her stomach twisted miserably as she nodded.

“Of course, Gabriel. I will speak to him.”

With that, Gabriel left with a final crunch of his boots on the gravel and Crowley came up beside her. “What did he say to you?” he asked as the carriage pulled away.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said, putting the words from her mind. They hardly mattered. She knew Crowley wasn’t keeping a mistress or warming someone else’s bed. It was insulting that Gabriel assumed he would.

With Gabriel gone, Crowley returned to work and Aziraphale was left at loose ends. She worked in the kitchen but found herself too distracted and gave up on trying to improve on her scones. Her attempts at reading proved no better and, after hosting for the last several days, Crowley had enough estate work to do that he had to work through dinner.

Aziraphale ended up in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking. What had she done that day? Nothing. Crowley had been busy, and she had gone back to being useless. She was Crowley’s _wife_ , not just his friend. Wasn’t she supposed to see to duties about the house? See to him in the bedchamber? Perhaps Gabriel was right, and he would grow tired of her and seek pleasure elsewhere because she wasn’t being a good wife.

She snuggled down deeper in bed and pushed off her thoughts. They weren’t useful. When she’d been getting anxious lately, she found one way to distract herself was to…

Was it inappropriate to touch herself after everything that happened?

Sliding her hand under the sheets, she spread her legs and gently pet the curls that hid her sex. It was soothing in its own way and emptied her mind. She hummed as she parted her folds and began to touch her clitoris. She supposed she had Crowley to thank for showing her how to do this. Crowley. 

Her back arched and she bit her lip. She sped up the pace of her hand, moving in faster circles with her fingers and thinking about stronger hands than her own. She remembered that day in the greenhouse, sleeves rolled up exposing gorgeous forearms, dirty knuckles. Her stomach clenched and she whimpered as her orgasm spilled through her. 

Trembling, she rolled onto her side and clutched one of her pillows. Were her fantasies bad? Ladies, real ladies, probably didn’t do this at all. 

She was a horrible person. Not good for anything except chasing her own pleasure. Selfish. Gabriel always said as much, and he was right.

Tears started to leak from her eyes, and she curled tighter around her pillow, ashamed for letting her emotions get the better of her but with no idea how to stop it.

* * *

It was snowing, Crowley noted through his bedroom window, surprised by the sudden turn in weather. He glanced at the door connecting his bedroom to Aziraphale’s and concern rose inside him. She still struggled with the fires and it would certainly get cold. 

Resigning himself, he tugged on his dressing gown and went to the door, hoping she wouldn’t be too offended if he used it. He knocked and got no response. “Do you need help with the fire?

"It's snowing," he added through the door, tapping again so he could enter.

He pushed open the door and found Aziraphale upright in bed, scrubbing at her cheeks as she snuffled.

"Crowley," she said with false brightness as if she were trying to disguise her tears. "I’m sorry. You've caught me at quite a bad time. Let me start the fire."

Crowley froze at the sight of her. "What happened?"

Aziraphale waved her hands and the tears increased. "Nothing."

Faltering and with no idea what to do with his hands, Crowley took two abortive steps towards the bed as Aziraphale's face crumpled.

"I don't know," she said through a hiccuping sob. "I can't stop thinking about all the things Gabriel said. I should be—I should be doing more. Doing better. _Being_ better."

Crowley didn't have very many memories of seeing people comfort each other but as Aziraphale sobbed, it was all he could think to do to pull her into a hug. 

"I thought it didn't bother me anymore," she said into his dressing gown, the words muffled into the fabric and through her tears. “I thought he didn’t bother me.”

Crowley accepted the awkward angle of the seated embrace and let her cry, unsure of what to say or do besides hold her.

"He was a twat the whole time he was here," Crowley said when the tears dwindled, and she laughed wetly. "Not surprised it got to you after six days of that nonsense."

"I’m sorry," she said quietly, twisting the fabric of his dressing gown in her hands and refusing to pull away.

He allowed himself to hold her slightly closer and his chest started to ache pleasantly, like he wanted to be even closer. "It doesn't bother me."

The cold, however, was encroaching and when he tried to pull away to light the fire, she clutched at his hands and looked at him with red-rimmed, puffy eyes. “Could you stay with me tonight? I'd appreciate not being alone."

Crowley's stomach lurched like a carriage with a broken wheel and he nodded as he pulled away. "Just need to start the fire."

Aziraphale settled into bed behind him and asked, voice husky from crying, "Is it really snowing?"

"Looks like it might be all night," Crowley said, focusing on the fireplace and not Aziraphale's request to share a bed. Surely platonically. Surely. There was nothing seductive about a snot-filled request to not be alone even if he didn’t think he would mind kissing her just then.

"I like the snow," Aziraphale observed.

Crowley hummed but didn't respond and when he finally slipped into bed, Aziraphale scooted close and tucked her feet over his.

She laughed before blowing out the candle.

"It's silly but I missed your cold feet."

Her hands came to rest next to his chest, knuckles brushing his side as her breathing evened out and Crowley stared at the ceiling trying to account for the terrifying expanding heat in his chest. He could still smell the faint sweet scent of her lemon perfume, feel the soft give of her body in his arms. He tore his gaze from her sleeping face and stared at the ceiling instead.

He was attracted to his wife. He knew this. But this feeling was deeper and more terrifying, expanding to the pit of his stomach, the unused corners of his heart. 

_I missed your cold feet_.

But not just that. Her excitement whenever he joined her for dinner. Her genuine pleasure at the drinking chocolate, the slippers, every little thing he did for her.

He enjoyed every bit of it, just spending time with her improved his mood, made his long boring days better. Against his judgment, he liked her. He _loved her_.

He was fucked.

* * *

Aziraphale woke up blissfully warm. When she opened her eyes, she realized it was because she was pressed up against Crowley who, as promised, had stayed with her. She reddened at the memory of her childish request, but he had not judged her. It seemed he rarely did. 

The sun streamed in through the curtain, brightened by the snow that had fallen the night before, but Crowley was still asleep. Aziraphale glanced at his sleeping face and bit back a grin. His long hair was a mess, mouth slightly ajar. He looked very silly indeed. It reminded Aziraphale of the Crowley who teased her over the chess board or who threw demolished scones at her in the garden. Boyish. Charming.

She tucked her head back onto his chest and sighed with contentment. Gabriel was gone and they could go back to their lives. 

Things between them truly were good. So changed from the early tense days when they hardly spoke and Crowley practically acted afraid of her. Perhaps they could plan another trip in the spring. Not just to London, but to the sea or somewhere North, somewhere Crowley wanted to go. Aziraphale found the prospect of more time with Crowley something worth looking forward to.

**

Crowley spent the entire day in his study. He turned over the thoughts he had the night before and in the light of day saw only truth. 

He curled up in the chair by the fire and bit his nails, a habit he tried not to indulge in. Aziraphale. He was in love with her. Nine months out from the marriage and he was in love. How had he let it happen?

Foolish. He knew how it had happened. It was her pretty hair, her gorgeous eyes, her sense of humor, her acceptance of everything he was. Wanting to fuck her was one thing but this was a bridge too far. Love? 

He wasn't silly enough to think she felt the same way. He might have been a bit of a novice in the ways of actual love, but he knew the signs. Or he was fairly certain he did. 

He dropped his hand into his lap and sighed. Maybe he just needed to pay a bit more attention. Test the waters. Maybe there was _something_ there. 

The thought of risking their hard-won friendship made his chest ache so he resolved to do nothing unless he was certain of a welcome. He could hardly imagine their relationship returning to what it had been in the early months of their marriage. Not speaking. Avoiding each other. It was unbearable to even think of. 

No, there were certainly small steps her could take to _see_ if Aziraphale might be receptive to more than just friendship. Perhaps she felt the same and was keeping her feelings to herself. That was...possible.

A tentative hope bloomed warm in his heart. He had a plan.

* * *

"The flowers you left in my bedroom were lovely," Aziraphale said over dinner. Cook hadn't been able to come in due to the snow, but they still had cold meats and cheese from the last visit, more easily preserved due to the continued cold weather.

Crowley froze and glanced up at Aziraphale. This was it. The first test. Flowers were a sort of wooing measure he was certain.

"What sort were they?" she asked.

"Primroses," he said, trying to measure her for any sort of reaction. 

"Well, they certainly livened up my bedroom. The winter months can be quite dreary," Aziraphale said between bites. "Do you put flowers in your bedroom?"

"Sometimes."

That wasn't the reaction he was hoping for. Then again, he wasn't entirely sure he knew what he was hoping for. 

He bit back a sigh. He would need to figure something else out.

That night, after he retired, he laid in bed and stared at his ceiling as it flickered in the dim light of the fire. He and Aziraphale had spent their evening together in the drawing room as they always did. She read aloud from the book she was currently reading. Apparently, she wasn’t enjoying it because she kept pausing to make scathing remarks about poor research and fact checking procedures.

Crowley had trouble paying attention. His eyes kept drifting to the nape of her neck where fine little hairs curled against her skin. They looked so soft. He wanted to wind them in his fingers, sink his hands into her hair, pull her into a kiss.

Suffice it to say, he had been distracted.

She hadn't noticed. She didn’t seem to notice anything.

The flowers had not illuminated anything for Crowley. Aziraphale was still Aziraphale, happy, stubborn, beautiful. He loved her and had no idea how she felt.

A knock at the door roused him. It was the door to Aziraphale's room, and he started.

It eased open before he said anything but barely a crack. "Are you decent?"

"Yes, I'm bloody decent," Crowley snapped. Great job there. With the wooing.

Aziraphale scooted inside, hands wrapped tight around the tie of her dressing gown. 

"My fire went out and I'm having trouble restarting it. Could you help?" she asked, eyes wide and plaintive.

Crowley sighed. He had no idea if she knew what those eyes did to him but if she figured it out, he was a goner. He snatched his dressed gown and followed her out, heart beating fast. He reminded himself this wasn’t some backwards proposition. Aziraphale needed help and he was happy to give it.

When he followed her through the door, she scuttled back into bed and tugged the blankets back up. 

“I thought you knew how to start the fires now,” Crowley said idly, crouching down to restart the logs and noticing the flue was shut. He turned back to mention that and saw Aziraphale looking hopefully at him. He frowned. “Aziraphale, the flue is shut.”

“Is it?” she asked innocently. “I didn’t realize.”

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale poked the pillow beside her. “It’s awfully cold. I slept much better that night Gabriel left.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Are you asking me to sleep in your bed again?”

“If it’s not too much of an imposition.”

Crowley ran his hand through his hair. This was an opportunity. Perhaps a sign. Though it was difficult to think of it as a sign when Aziraphale was looking at him without any sort of flirtation. This was certainly no seduction. At least he didn’t think so.

“Course not,” he said, toeing off his slippers and climbing into bed. Aziraphale snuggled down into the blankets happily. Seeing that pleased look on her face was enough to warm him right down to his core.

Aziraphale rolled over, turning her back to him, and blew out the candle before settling on her side. Crowley watched her for a long moment until his eyes adjusted to the dark. Perhaps this was all his life would be. They would share a bed on cold nights. He probably wouldn’t sleep well, his anxieties keeping him awake. He would never be able to hold her and say how he felt, but she would be happy. That would have to be enough.

He sighed and rolled away to face the far wall. It was good that Aziraphale trusted him enough to ask for these things. He wasn’t some oppressor like Gabriel. She’d mentioned behind afraid of what sort of husband she might be carted off to and clearly he wasn’t the worst of the worst. Friends, she called them. That was good.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked, startling him.

“Sleeping?” Crowley said.

“All the way over there?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley heard her roll over and scoot closer. “What’s the point of sharing a bed if you don’t share heat?”

Her hand snuck over his waist and her feet tangled with his. She gave off so much warmth and even though there was still a good half a foot between their bodies, he tensed immediately. Did she want to cuddle? What did that mean? Crowley’s heart beat loud and hard. 

She chuffed a laugh. “This reminds me of sharing a bed with my sister.”

Not romantic then.

“She always curled up in one corner too,” Aziraphale explained. “Don’t worry. We’ll warm up and then I’ll move back to my side.”

Crowley clutched her hand immediately. “It’s fine. You don’t need to go anywhere. If you’re cold.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed and he felt her nose briefly brush the nape of his neck. It was chilled. “Alright.”

She sounded happy and Crowley supposed that would have to do.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first, i want to say i wrote this BEFORE Bridgerton came out so any similarities are weirdly coincidental
> 
> also, NSFW illustrations are contained herein please take that into consideration before opening in front of your family or friends on a large screen.

Aziraphale’s fingers moved idly through his hair as she finished reading the chapter aloud. Ever since they had started sharing a bed, it had become like this. Instead of just sitting together in the evening, she would beckon for him to put his feet in her lap and sometimes, on evenings like tonight, she would ease his head down into her lap so she could play with his hair while she read.

It was yet another indication of Aziraphale’s more familial affection for him. Sharing a bed like he was her sister and now they cuddled on the sofa while she played with his hair. He wondered if the openness in her affection stemmed from her knowledge of his dalliances with men and if she had forgotten that he was also attracted to women.

Waking up with her tucked close, smelling of lemon and warmth, the softness of her hair on his pillow, and _knowing_ now why seeing her made his heart stutter and his stomach twist, it was enough to drive him mad. 

He could have easily put a stop to it. One word and Aziraphale would have respectfully put distance between them. But he was selfish. She clearly didn't know what this intimacy meant to him. He was taking advantage of her kindness. She would surely stop treating him this way if she knew how it made him feel. How it made his heart race and hurt at the same time.

She played with the ends of his hair and sighed. Crowley had barely been listening, so he had no idea if they were at a natural stopping point when she put the book aside.

"Everything alright, angel?" he asked, not sure if he should sit up for the conversation about to occur, but then Aziraphale began to fiddle with the lapel of his waistcoat, her arm bracing him against her thigh and keeping him in place. He supposed that was answer enough. 

"Do you ever have your friends over here?" Aziraphale asked after a moment.

Crowley had often hosted his group for dinner, usually a smaller party than what Anathema managed and certainly a far sight more intimate than anything Tracy could pull together. He simply hadn't for quite some time. Not since Aziraphale had moved in. Or even a few months prior while the stress of his impending marriage had begun to feel like doom.

"Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking it might be nice," Aziraphale began, "to have a party. For the people you like."

"What about the people you like?"

"I don't like very many people," Aziraphale pointed out."

"You like me," Crowley said. His teeth clacked shut. That was too revealing. Or perhaps not because Aziraphale shot him a fond if exasperated smile.

"Yes, Crowley, I believe that is established. What I _mean_ is that I don't have a wide circle of acquaintances outside my family and neither you nor I wish to entertain them any more than we must," Aziraphale said and her fingers were still playing a rhythm over Crowley's chest. He wanted to tangle their hands together, hold them over his heart, quiet whatever nerves had her fidgeting so.

"But I would like to entertain on occasion, and I enjoyed meeting your friends," Aziraphale finished before looking down at Crowley hopefully. She liked to do that. Ask without asking. 

With some regret, Crowley pulled himself into a seated position. “You don’t need to throw parties on my account.”

“Who said it was for you?” Aziraphale asked, very unimpressed. He liked that look on her. Hopeless really. He was finding he liked most looks on her. 

“Alright, well...I don’t see why you can’t put something together.”

Aziraphale gave him a grin that pulled his heart right up into his throat. This wouldn’t do at all. He needed to go to London or somewhere. Do something to get his head on straight.

“Really? I was thinking the first Friday of next month,” she said, and it became clear that some planning had already begun as she started to speak of all she hoped to accomplish.

Crowley leaned back against the sofa and listened to her chatter, enjoying the sound of her voice too much and resolving to make a plan to get away. Just for a bit.

* * *

"You're going to town?" Aziraphale asked with a frown. Crowley had said nothing of such a trip, and he was poking at his breakfast and acting strange. "And I'm not going with you?"

"It really is a short trip," Crowley insisted. "For business. Boring."

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley was hiding something, and she didn't want to press about it. She supposed he had a right to his own life. They'd certainly become quite close over the last several months, but they didn't need to share everything, and she shouldn't feel quite so disappointed by it.

"Alright," Aziraphale said. "Just travel safe and if the weather turns, stay in town until it passes. I don't want you doing anything silly trying to get home."

"I don’t do silly things," Crowley said with a huff.

Aziraphale said nothing because they both knew that was hardly true.

* * *

"And liking your wife is a problem because?" Anathema asked, looking genuinely confused as Newt handed her a snifter of brandy and took a seat to her right.

Crowley groaned and curled up in his seat. "She treats me like I'm a bloody woman."

"Aren't you? Partially," Newt conceded when Crowley shot him a venomous look.

"Not the point. Aziraphale isn't interested in women and she's supportive of the general idea of the dresses and the parties but she doesn't…"

"Want to have sex with you," Anathema finished.

Crowley groaned, flapping all his limbs out in frustration. His brandy sloshed out over the rim of his glass, so he set it down on the side table with enough frustration that it clinked audibly. "That's not what I’m saying."

"But it's what you want."

"So what if it is? I’m not going to beg," Crowley demanded. He'd come here for a sympathetic ear. Not to be needled. He should have known better. Newt and Anathema together presented an awful front.

"I don't see why you can't try to change her mind," Newt said.

"What?" Crowley sneered.

"What Newt means," Anathema said with a sharp glance at Newt, "is why don’t you woo her? We both know you've had more than one person fall for you even if you didn’t reciprocate."

Crowley’s foul mood turned even fouler as he thought on weeks of doing exactly that. Of attempting to woo his wife. "Care to enlighten me on potential methods? Do you know I bring her drinking chocolate every time I come back from town? I cut her fresh sodding flowers every week. We sleep in the same bloody bed because her hands get cold. Pray tell me, Anathema, how am I supposed to _woo_ her?"

Anathema’s eyes were wide behind her spectacles. "Crowley, you're _certain_ she doesn't already have feelings for you?"

"She says we're 'best friends.’ She’s compared me to her sister on more than one occasion,” Crowley said, flopping back into the chair as he made the quotation clear. "Worst part is I'm happy. Pathetic."

"It's not pathetic to care about someone," Newt said.

"I just don’t want to ruin it by trying something stupid." He groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Every day I'm terrified I'm going to kiss her and she's going to hate me. Or worse. She'll kiss me back because she'll think she has to. Some stupid thing her family taught her about duty. I can't do that to her. Force her into something she doesn’t want"

When he finally tipped his head up to look at his friends, they were exchanging a glance that made his cheeks heat. He was being ridiculous.

"It’s fine. I’ll be...fine," Crowley growled before finishing his drink. Anathema looked very much like she wanted to say something else, but she wisely held her tongue.

* * *

Aziraphale had sincerely hoped she could plan a dinner party worthy of Crowley. She knew Crowley didn't expect anything, but it had been nearly a year since their wedding and to be quite honest Aziraphale was grateful. In the weeks leading up to her nuptials, she had been afraid of the sort of person Anthony Crowley would turn out to be and here he was, the person she'd rather be with over anyone else. 

She was just so happy, and she wanted Crowley to be happy too. She knew the parties and the dresses and his friends were all part of his happiness prior to their wedding. She hated thinking her presence had put a stop to any of it. 

So when Anathema and Newt were the only people able to attend the party she attempted to organize, she tried not to be too disappointed. Crowley was typically noncommittal when she asked his opinion on things, telling her to do as she liked which was hardly helpful. But despite Anathema’s strange manners, it was clear to Aziraphale she was one of Crowley's closer acquaintances so the party would move forward as it was. Small and intimate perhaps but hopefully worthwhile. 

And when Aziraphale did Crowley's hair before Anathema and Newt were set to arrive, the smile on his face made it entirely worth it.

"So, are you Miss Ashtoreth tonight?" Aziraphale asked, tucking Crowley's curls into his fashionable cap.

"I’m feeling a bit more Crowley," he said with a shrug. He had not yet donned his shawl and his dress was cut to expose his collarbones. They rose stark from his chest and Aziraphale thought it a shame his hair wasn’t slightly longer, a few tendrils brushing those fine bones would surely set them off to an advantage. 

"Is that because it’s a smaller affair?" She pinned the final curl in place and brushed her fingers over the fine hairs at the base of his neck. He really did have the loveliest hair. 

"S'not really how it works. I'm just...not her today I suppose," he said as he rouged his mouth. Aziraphale wondered how it all worked, the dresses and the face paint and the _Miss Ashtoreth_ instead of _Crowley_. Perhaps Crowley couldn't explain it, but he seemed comfortable in it. Happy. 

"Alright," she said. "My hair now?"

Crowley rubbed his lips together to spread the red paint and, in a flash, she remembered the way it had looked smeared after she had kissed him at the last party. The sight tugged something low in her gut. An altogether strange response.

“I was thinking about wearing those orchids you gave me,” Aziraphale ventured. She averted her gaze before retrieving the flowers Crowley had given her that very morning. He so often did that these days. Ever since Gabriel’s visit, he had taken to giving her cuttings from the greenhouse. Almost every week.

Crowley took the cutting, an odd look on his face, as he stood so they could trade positions. "Of course."

She closed her eyes and let Crowley brush her hair. He really was quite skilled, but she knew he had capable hands. She’d seen him working in the greenhouse and she’d felt those hands touching her. 

Her eyes flew open. That was an inappropriate train of thought. Her mind was out of sorts this evening.

Crowley was midway through a braid when he spoke, "You wore orchids at the wedding."

"What?" Aziraphale asked, startled. She had been caught up in the hypnotic movement of his fingers as he laced her hair together.

"You wore orchids in your hair at our wedding," Crowley said quietly, hands pausing. Their eyes met in the mirror and Aziraphale breath caught in her throat. In the candlelight, Crowley's eyes were a beautiful brown. He crooked a smile and patted her shoulder. 

Something bloomed inside Aziraphale as she looked at him, larger than any flower. A beautiful sensation she couldn't name. It felt akin to gratitude. She had to say something.

"Crowley, I—" she began uselessly, wishing he could read her mind and simply feel as she felt. That he could _know_ how happy she was.

"What is it?"

"You're my best friend," she said emphatically, and it didn't feel like enough, but it was close, and it eased some of the mounting pressure in her chest.

Crowley's gaze darted away, and she felt instead as if she had ruined something. He squeezed her arm.

"If you ever want any other types of flowers, tell me. I'm usually up for the challenge of growing something new."

Aziraphale tried to catch his eye again, to chase the feeling that had passed between them. She had the strangest urge to apologize, but for what, she didn't know.

They greeted Anathema and Newt downstairs and it became very clear the two had been to Crowley's house before. They required no direction to find the drawing room and were quite at home.

"It's nice to see you again, Aziraphale," Anathema said as Crowley and Newt got drinks.

Aziraphale tore her gaze from Crowley's back. The fine hairs at the nape of his neck were awfully distracting. The red curls stood out vibrantly against his cap and Aziraphale wanted to realign them, to touch them again.

"Yes, you as well," Aziraphale said, dragging her gaze back to Anathema. "I know Crowley misses the parties."

"Not as much as you think," Anathema said rather cryptically. "Did you enjoy the last one?"

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale replied. "I'd never experienced anything like it, but everyone was so welcoming. I was a bit worried, you know. About doing the wrong thing."

Crowley slipped into the seat beside her and handed her wine. "I don't think you could do the wrong thing, angel."

Aziraphale’s cheeks heated at the nickname, said so easily in front of other people. It was the sort of affectionate nickname lovers had for each other, but she and Crowley weren't lovers. No matter what they had done once a year ago. They were simply friends. Good friends who had the good fortune to be married to each other.

“Thank you,” she stammered into her cup as Crowley began to ask after the latest gossip. Apparently, Adam and Warlock were having some sort of dalliance that was the height of scandal among their group.

“I’m glad the lad is finally branching out,” Crowley said. “It will do him good. How’s Pepper taking it?”

“They were never involved,” Anathema said with a scoff. “It was all a ruse to get their parents to stop pestering them apparently. Pepper has been seeing a fine young woman in Bath actually. Though Adam might marry her. Just to pursue their own ends.”

With sudden clarity, Aziraphale wondered what Crowley had intended prior to his confession to her. He had surely meant to keep her in the dark regarding his activities. But he had also said he slept with men and women at the parties. Would he have continued to do so if they had not become friends? Did he intend to return to that lifestyle eventually, once they had settled into their life together? That was probably what people in his circle did. Have wives or husbands and keep up their lives behind the scenes, perhaps having an arrangement with their spouses so they could both be happy.

Aziraphale so wished for Crowley to be happy.

The conversation moved on and soon dinner was served, but Aziraphale couldn’t stop thinking about it. Was Crowley happy? That was the whole point of this evening's endeavor. Aziraphale was happy so she had thrown this party in an effort to bring Crowley a small measure of happiness, but what if this wasn’t what he wanted. What if there was a greater degree of freedom Aziraphale could afford him? Perhaps she needed to tell him, _Go to your parties, you don’t need to bring me. Go about your life as you used to._ Even if the implications of such a thing made her stomach hurt, the thought that Crowley would have a whole part of his life he didn’t share with her any longer. 

Despite her own spiral into doubt, Crowley did seem to be having a lovely time. He kept doing that thing, that lovely thing, where he threw his head back and laughed with his whole body. It was something Aziraphale had noticed he only did when he was truly comfortable. Usually in the evenings during their long conversations when talk about business and family had ebbed and they had begun discussing nothing of consequence. Crowley would open a bottle of wine (“Something I picked up in town,” he would say and it would always be something to Aziraphale’s taste) and they’d get pleasantly tipsy and Crowley would laugh just like that before they made their way up to bed. Except now his mouth was painted red with rouge and his hair was done delicately, framing his face and he looked so different yet exactly the same. 

After Anathema and Newt bid them goodnight and climbed into their carriage, they made their way back to the drawing room. Crowley collapsed on the couch with no thought for his dress, it crinkled and rode up indecently, showing his ankles. “I need to sober up. Haven’t got that pissed in ages.”

Aziraphale poured him some tea, thankful for her own sobriety owed mostly to her nerves. “You had a nice time then?”

“Course I did,” he said, draining the cup. “Thanks for arranging the whole thing. You didn’t have to.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale demurred as she took her own seat. “I was hoping it might be a bit more lively. More people. We could have had music. Dancing.”

“Dancing?” Crowley asked incredulously, levering himself up. “You want to dance?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“You never struck me as the dancing type.”

“Why is that?” Aziraphale bristled.

Crowley peered at her, nostrils flaring as his eyes narrowed like he was examining some sort of specimen. “Too refined,” he declared.

“Dancing is refined!”

“Not the sort of dancing my lot do,” Crowley grumbled as he finished a second cup of tepid tea. “You’d call it _scandalous_.”

“I hardly think dancing can be scandalous,” Aziraphale replied but she should have known better because Crowley was already pulling himself to his feet.

“C’mon. We’re dancing.”

“There’s no music!”

“We can count,” Crowley said as he tugged at her hands. She let him guide her to her feet with only a token protest. That was the game they played. Crowley teased and she protested. 

“Fine, fine,” she said as they stumbled into position. Crowley pulled her close and she had to admit it was a great deal closer than she had intended.

He grinned, all sharp teeth. “A waltz and not the sort they do at Almack’s.”

“Crowley!”

His hand was hot on her waist and the entire room felt suddenly very small. “You can do it, angel,” he said with a grin before beginning to count.

She tried. She did. But she was truly not a very good dancer. She did love it though and Crowley swore and laughed every time she stepped on his toes.

“I’m sorry!” she cried as he pulled back a final time.

“Maybe you should lead,” he offered.

“Me?” she asked, scandalized. “That doesn’t seem appropriate.”

Crowley gave her an unimpressed look and she realized how ridiculous she was being. He guided her hand to his waist and then to the other in his, reversing their position.

"It's the same. You just hold me," he said.

Aziraphale nodded and looked down at their feet. Crowley's shoes just barely poked out of his skirt, but they were nearly toe to toe. The waltz really was awfully close, no wonder it wasn’t allowed at respectable balls. Though she supposed most married couples would have been closer in other situations. But not this married couple.

Crowley gripped her hand and started to count. It turned out she was just as awful at leading as following and she ended up kicking his shins.

He laughed and stopped counting. 

"I'm much better at reels," Aziraphale huffed.

He gave her a dubious look but didn't respond. It was a lie anyway. 

"Let’s try again."

This time Aziraphale only tread on his toes once but the focus it took resulted in not paying attention to her surroundings and she ran them into the wall. Crowley thudded against it and swore.

"Is this an assassination attempt?" he asked, dropping her hands. "Murder by dancing?"

"I'm doing my best, " Aziraphale said and she was beginning to feel cross. "Need I remind you this was your idea?"

"Aren't you having fun?" Crowley teased. "This is the perfect excuse to work out your anger. I bet you're a phenomenal dancer and you’re doing this on purpose."

Aziraphale tried to frown in order to keep a laugh at bay, but it was a losing battle. She shoved at Crowley's chest and he caught her wrists.

"You've been biding your time," Crowley said, eyes flashing mischievously. "Waiting to strike."

Aziraphale loved when Crowley got like this. When he teased and cajoled and smiled. When the thunderclouds of his moods disappeared and only joy remained.

"What of it?" Aziraphale asked, playing along. "You could never prove it"

"Oh, but you're sloppy, Aziraphale," Crowley said, leaning down and letting his voice go quiet. "You'll make a mistake and I'll catch you."

Aziraphale’s heart felt quite strange in her chest, beating raggedly and entirely too fast. Crowley was so close. He was holding her hands. His hands were bigger than hers. Once upon a time they had pulled up her shift, grasped her hips.

What did Crowley want? What did she want? Her heart was beating so loud in her ears that she couldn’t think and, pushed forward by something she couldn’t name, she surged up onto her toes to capture Crowley's mouth. Her entire being lit up at the contact, a sensation of illumination, of fire, of heat. She dug her fingers into the front of Crowley's dress and whimpered, pushing closer, as close as she could. Crowley's hands loosened around her wrists as he made a shocked noise deep in his chest, but he didn't pull away. He slid his hands up her shoulders and held her fast as she pressed him against the wall and licked into his mouth.

He made another noise then, a moan, a wonderful moan that set the heat in Aziraphale’s blood into a proper flame. 

Crowley slid his tongue against hers and her knees went weak, but it was alright because Crowley's arms had circled her waist as they kissed. They were pressed so tightly together that she could feel the hard line of his penis against her stomach. A strange thrill passed through her. He wanted her. Enough to be erect, enough to kiss her, enough to sigh and moan into her mouth.

She slipped her hand between their bodies to stroke his hard length through his dress and she’d barely grasped it in her palm before she was being pushed back. She stumbled, catching herself on the back of the settee.

Crowley put a hand to his mouth. His cheeks were red, his rouge smeared from their kiss. "Aziraphale…why did you do that?"

A cold shame rushed over the fire that had been burning through her. She had been wrong. She knew men’s bodies sometimes reacted physically even when mentally the man didn’t want sex. She had assumed that Crowley wanted her and taken liberties and Crowley looked so horrified.

"I am so sorry," she stammered, preparing to flee. “I just thought...we were having such a lovely time and—” 

Crowley grabbed her arm before she could run. "It's not...we're friends, Aziraphale.”

“Don’t friends sometimes…”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Crowley said, eyes wide and expression as pained as Aziraphale felt. She had made him look that way. It broke her heart.

She forced herself to nod. "Yes, of course. Let’s pretend it never happened.”

Crowley's gaze flickered away, that familiar nervous expression, and Aziraphale’s stomach clenched in response.

"Right. Good night then," Crowley said tightly as he released her arm.

Aziraphale left the room, determined not to cry.

* * *

_I don’t think it’s a good idea._

He repeated his own words back to himself as he wiped off his face paint and paced the length of his bedroom.

What the deuce had Crowley been thinking?

He’d wanted Aziraphale since that first night, realized it after seeing her in that dreadfully erotic shift, and had been wanking himself into a frenzy over her ever since. And here she had been rubbing against him and kissing him in the drawing room, and trying to touch his cock and moaning into his mouth and he had said _no_?

Crowley thumped his head against his bedroom wall and groaned in anything but pleasure. "You dunce."

It was because he loved her. Stupid a reason as that was. Because he didn’t want to make love to her when it would be just sex for her.

But that was a ridiculous expectation because they were married, and this was probably as good as it would ever get. They could be friends, best friends, and they both had needs they couldn't sate outside the bonds of matrimony. That Aziraphale wanted him at all was a revelation.

He turned and leaned his head back against the wall. 

He had put a stop to it downstairs for fear of being selfish but that wouldn't be what this was at all. It didn't matter if he had what felt like a bottomless well of love inside him. He could pour it all into kisses and touches and it didn't matter if Aziraphale never knew as long as she was happy. If she wanted kisses, if she wanted Crowley in her bed, so be it.

Crowley had realized and should have realized the minute he had bought that pound of chocolate nearly a year ago, that he would move mountains for Aziraphale.

He stood up straight and began to undo the high collar of his dress as he walked towards the door.

He had a wife to kiss.

* * *

Aziraphale felt like the world's biggest fool. Why had she kissed Crowley? Yes, she had maybe perhaps been thinking about kissing Crowley _occasionally_ while in the bath when she was alone with her hand between her legs over the last few months, but that was because Crowley was in her bed and she could no longer find her release with him there all the time. She didn’t think about kissing him any other time! It was inappropriate to think like that about her friend.

The fact that her knees still felt weak from his kisses and her sex ached with arousal only made her shame more acute. She wanted to touch herself but she knew it would only lead to thoughts of Crowley and at the moment, it would feel like a betrayal of his trust, no matter how lovely he had looked tonight at the party in that teal dress with his hair curled. He’d looked so tall and lithe, the way the bodice was cut made his waist slim and emphasized the jut of his hips.

She frowned and tried to stop thinking, rolling over in bed and pushing her face into the pillow. It wasn't her fault Crowley was so attractive. So pretty in his dresses and in his suits. He had a beautiful neck, perfectly graceful. Aziraphale wanted to nibble on it.

She growled and threw her pillow across the room.

Bloody stupid man. She’d been so good about _not_ thinking about these things and now the thoughts would not stop. Perhaps if she went to sleep, the flood of images would cease.

A knock sounded at the door that led to Crowley's bedroom and Aziraphale sat upright. 

The door slammed open to reveal a harried looking Crowley, color high on his freckled cheeks. He’d cleaned off the rouge that Aziraphale had so thoughtlessly smeared by kissing him and her stomach swooped at the sight of him. Good Lord, would it be like this from now on? Now that she had opened the door to this _lust_?

"Crowley what—are you—"

But Crowley had already strode across the room and cupped her face in his palms just to kiss the breath from her.

Surprise melted into something else entirely as Crowley stroked their tongues together. This time it was Aziraphale that pulled away.

"But downstairs, you said—"

"Fuck what I said."

Aziraphale was fine with that. She yanked on his bodice and pulled him into bed so that his body blanketed hers. Oh, it had been so long—since their wedding night—and he felt so good.

She thought back to that first time, how she'd tried to do the ladylike thing, lay back and be quiet and dutiful. She’d hated it. She never wanted it to be like that again.

She ripped her mouth away with some regret until Crowley kissed her neck which she couldn't regret in the least. "Do you mind if I make noise?"

"Mind?" Crowley asked incredulously. "Be as loud as you like. I want to hear you."

Aziraphale had to kiss him then and she let herself moan into it because it made heat rush between her legs. 

Crowley kissed her chin and then her jaw. "I like that."

"Take off your dress," Aziraphale demanded, wanting to get at his skin.

"Only if you take off your shift."

Fair was fair Aziraphale supposed and she was so aroused she hardly cared what Crowley thought when he saw her nude. She tore her shift over her head, and he froze in his efforts to remove his own dress and practically tackled her back against the pillows to kiss her again.

* * *

"Dress, now," Aziraphale said against his mouth. Her hands scrabbled at the laces at the back and he let her heave the fabric over his head, take his shift with it. The faster his clothes were off, the sooner he could kiss Aziraphale again.

Aziraphale seemed to agree, tugging him back down atop her as soon as the dress was discarded.

"Oh, you feel so lovely," she breathed, kissing his shoulder and running her hands down his back. She pushed her chest up against his, her nipples brushing his chest hair and growing hard. 

She kissed his neck, nipped his collarbone, putting her mouth on everything she could reach while Crowley was on top of her. With each touch Crowley had to fight the urge to rock into her, to simply hold her down and fuck her until she screamed his name. He was barely holding himself back, not wanting it to be over quite so fast. He had no idea if Aziraphale would want to do this again or if this would be just for tonight and if it was just tonight, he wanted it to last. Their legs tangled and his cock pressed against her hip, leaving an obscene smear behind.

"Can I touch you again?" Aziraphale asked quietly, her hand tracing down his hip.

Crowley's stomach tensed under the touch. He kissed Aziraphale hard. "I'd rather touch you if that’s alright."

He moved his leg so it pressed higher between her thighs. They fell apart as Aziraphale sighed into another kiss. Crowley slid down her body and cupped her knee in his hand to push it back, opening her to him. She let him. It was nothing like the last time, furtive touches under her shift in the dark. Here she was spread open, glistening and flushed in the candlelight. Crowley ran his palm along the inside of her thigh, pushing her leg flat against the bed as he moved closer, lost to the sight before him. She was gorgeous. The light blond hair of her cunt was slightly wet but didn't obscure the hood of her clit as it peeked out between her outer lips. With her legs spread, Crowley could see how wet she was, how her juice had smeared all over her sex. He wondered if she would let him taste.

He pet her inner thighs before moving up to cup her mound. She gasped at the touch and he felt her pelvic muscles flutter under the flat of his other hand. Rising up to kiss her, he parted her folds with slick fingers and drew careful circles around her swollen clit.

She gasped at the touch, a sound that made his cock pulse against her hip. 

"Please," she said. "Could you...inside me?"

Crowley slowed down his movements, just petting her while she squirmed. 

"Like last time," she said hesitating only slightly before threading her hands in his hair and yanking him back down for a kiss he happily gave.

He obeyed and slid two fingers between her folds, getting them slick and rubbing them over her clit before taking his middle finger and pressing it inside her

She groaned and he pulled away to watch her face as he opened her with his hand. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were screwed shut as little gasps dropped from her mouth every time Crowley moved his hand. He sank in as far as he could go and let her grind against his palm. She cried out, fisting her hands in the sheets. She was beautiful.

Fuck, if he didn’t love her.

"Can you look at me?" he asked like a greedy fool. He should take what he was given. 

It was that awkward first night all over again and Aziraphale was going to screw up her face and refuse.

Except.

Her eyes flew open, light blue in the light. 

"Can you...more?" she asked, pushing down on his hand.

Crowley pulled back and pushed in with a second finger. And when she asked for more again he sat back on his knees and fucked her harder, adding his second hand to rub over the nub at the apex of her sex. This time Aziraphale made noises, beautiful noises. Like Crowley was doing something wonderful. So he kept going, rubbing her off and fucking her until she was dripping all over the linens, loose and wet as he worked her open. Fuck, he hoped she wanted his cock. He wanted to push into that wet heat, feel her come while he was buried deep.

Just as Crowley contemplated adding a third finger, Aziraphale’s hips canted up, her muscles jerking against his hands while she cried out her release. She grabbed a pillow and her feet scrabbled against the bed as she shook.

"Crowley," she gasped. "Oh, oh. Crowley."

She grasped for him and he went, letting her pull him against her chest. She hooked her thigh around his hip and reached clumsily between his legs.

"I want you," she said. The words shot through Crowley's heart, painful and joyous. He kissed her neck and guided his cock to her entrance.

Aziraphale’s back arched as he slipped inside, her body demanding more. So he kissed her and he fucked her, knowing he wouldn't last. He'd been fantasizing about this for far too long to do anything else.

* * *

She felt incandescent. Her orgasm still tingled at the tips of her fingers as Crowley filled her, moved inside her, made her feel so many things. 

He made little huffing noises of effort in her ear that sent butterflies off in her stomach, each thrust lighting her up from her toes to her scalp. 

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, a rough breath on her neck.

"Please," she answered and then she was being kissed and they were moving together and Aziraphale wanted to do this again and maybe forever because she felt so full and delicious and Crowley was so warm on top of her.

Crowley pulled out suddenly, and spilled over her stomach in hot pulses, the sight strangely erotic.

He hung his head. All of his curls had come out during their love making and they hung in his face in messy waves as he caught his breath. Aziraphale brushed them from his face.

He glanced at her before pulling away to get water from the basin. He cleaned her belly with a soft towel and in the silence, Aziraphale began to dread what he would say.

He grabbed his shift from the floor and held it in front of himself. "I suppose that's uh...good night then."

"Why wouldn't you stay?" Aziraphale asked, already tugging him back into bed. “You always stay.”

He went easily, a confused expression on his face. Then they were skin to skin. Aziraphale pulled the blankets up over them and cuddled closer to Crowley, happier than she had been in a very long time.

* * *

Crowley woke to a shaft of sunlight and swiftly curling shame. He shouldn’t have succumbed the night before. Aziraphale had no idea how he felt and if she didn’t feel the same way wasn’t he using her? Being selfish to fill his own needs? He needed to leave and have a quiet think in the greenhouse.

Aziraphale stretched under the linens beside and let out a contented yawn.

“It's lovely to wake up with the sun."

Crowley hesitated.

"I suppose," he hedged, not sure if he could still manage to leave. He was naked under the sheet and half hard at that, the combination of the morning and Aziraphale’s warm body beside him enough to assure that.

Aziraphale smiled a particular smile that Crowley knew meant she wanted something as she rolled onto her side. "Last night was wonderful," she said and she sounded like she meant it. In fact, she sounded breathless. Crowley's arousal was not about to go anywhere if she was going to talk like that.

"Yes, uh, I…" Crowley’s words trailed off as Aziraphale tugged down the sheet to expose his chest. She laid the flat of her hand on his belly, thumb passing over the trail of hair above his belly button.

"I was hoping we could do it more often," Aziraphale said and her hand slid to his far hip, gripping it tight as she moved closer. The sheet fell down to her waist, exposing her chest and Crowley was fully hard now, there was no denying it.

Aziraphale visibly swallowed. "Can I…"

She slipped her hand over the sheet that just barely kept him modest, hand hovering over his erection.

"God yes," he moaned, canting his hips up into her palm so she would touch him and fuck, her hand was warm.

She let out a little oh of surprise, a sound he would have teased her for if his mind hadn’t shut down completely at her touch. She rubbed him through the sheet, feeling out the shape of him. No finesse or art, just curiosity. 

Then she tugged away the sheet and made a noise of surprise as she took him back into her hand.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to breathe as she began to set a rhythm.

"I’ve never seen you in the light before," she said. She squirmed down the bed until she was closer to his cock and she used her other hand to pet his pubic hair. "I didn’t expect this to match your head."

"Are you-fuck- are you mocking me?" he asked, and she nipped his stomach.

"I would never," she said with a moue of faux offense. "I have the utmost respect for your...hair."

She smirked and moved her hand a little faster, making him gasp.

"You make lovely noises," she observed as she sat up and brought her other hand to pet his thighs. The move pushed her tits together and Crowley wanted his mouth on them. 

He surged up and wrapped his arms around her. Her grunt of surprise turned into a moan when he drew a nipple into his mouth, laving it carefully with his tongue. She seemed to forget she was rubbing him off but he didn't mind. He was too focused on rearranging their legs so she was settled in his lap while he played with her tits. 

"I like these," he said, kissing across her sternum. Her skin smelled of her lemon perfume and of sleep. He wanted to wake up like this every day. She squirmed and threaded her hands into his hair. The wiggle of her hips dragged the slickness of her arousal over his cock and he did his level best to ignore it. He was busy.

Her wide nipples darkened and puckered as he played with them and she rocked and moaned and dripped onto his lap. 

When he finally couldn't take it anymore, he said, “Lay back.”

Her eyes were glassy as they rearranged themselves on the bed. Crowley's heart beat fast and hard. He couldn't believe this. He'd been so certain Aziraphale didn't want him like this at all and even if it was just physical, it was an opportunity like no other.

As soon as she settled against the pillows, he slipped between her thighs, spreading them apart.

He kissed her chest, her stomach, her hips, all the while pressing delicate circles into her thighs with his thumbs. His stomach fluttered in anticipation. 

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the soft roll of her stomach just above her pubic hair and her thighs tensed.

"What are you doing?" 

Crowley paused and looked up at his wife. She was blushing something fierce, hair a curly mess from sleep and love making. He bit back words he would regret. Fanciful soppy words Aziraphale didn't need to hear.

"I'm going to use my mouth on you."

Aziraphale frowned. "People...do that? It’s not just in erotic literature?"

Crowley rose up on his elbows. "Angel, people do it all the time."

"So I could use my mouth on you too?" she asked, her expression going thoughtful. Crowley's prick throbbed where it was pressed into the mattress. He had purposefully avoided thinking about Aziraphale’s mouth on his cock. He'd seen the way she ate and that way madness lie.

"If you were interested in that," Crowley choked out. 

Aziraphale pushed a lock of hair off his forehead. "I am very interested in that."

"Guhg," Crowley said intelligently, choosing to bury his face in Aziraphale’s stomach in lieu of looking at her.

Aziraphale pet his hair for a moment and then said, "I think you were about to do something?"

Crowley tilted his head, peeking at her with one eye. "Awfully demanding for someone who didn’t know you could use mouths during sex five minutes ago."

"I knew it was theoretically possible!" Aziraphale protested, going even more red. 

Crowley slid down the rest of the way and pushed her thighs open. "You'll have to let me know how it is in practice."

And then he slid his tongue between the outer lips of her sex and she moaned his name. Wrapping his arms around her thighs he laid his hands flat on her belly to hold her in place as he licked her.

He hadn't done this often. He'd only slept with one woman in a bed so comfortable opportunities had been minimal. More often than not his encounters with women were in back rooms, in dark corners or on sofas and mostly used his hands on them. He was much more experienced with a cock in his mouth but for Aziraphale? He wanted to learn how. He wanted to learn her body perfectly until he could bring her off over and over until she moaned his name in that husky voice again, until she was soft and sleepy and happy. 

He licked over her softly, feeling the muscles in her abdomen jump under his hands in response. 

"Oh," she breathed. "That’s...oh."

It turned out she liked it soft, a gentle roll of his tongue over her entire sex over and over and over until she was shaking. 

"Crowley," she gasped between heaving breaths, hips skipping under his hands. She would be fucking his face if he weren’t holding her and god maybe one day she would. "Oh, Crowley."

He delicately sucked her clit into his mouth and that was when she fell apart, muscles locking as her cunt pulsed against his mouth. 

She shoved him off, oversensitive, and he found himself on his back. "Now you," she said, a glint in her eye that meant trouble.

Then his cock was in her mouth and her taste was still on his tongue and the way his name had sounded as she came still beat in his chest like a drum and he tried to warn her, but she didn't pull off. He groaned as he spilled down her throat.

"Angel, fuck, come here," he said, grasping at her shoulders to drag her up the bed and kiss her. They tasted like sex and stale morning and it still thrilled him but when they parted Aziraphale made a face.

"Perhaps less kissing in the mornings," she said, disgruntled.

Implying she wanted to have sex in the morning again. And probably at night too. 

Crowley collapsed against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. 

"I can do that."

* * *

Aziraphale sighed happily as she set aside her book. She was far too distracted to read. 

Crowley had helped her dress that morning and it had felt for the first time like a proper marriage. It was everything she had wanted. Crowley was her best friend and now she needn't feel guilty about thinking about him when she touched herself. In fact, she could probably convince him to do the touching.

She sipped at her tea and adjusted in her seat, still feeling a pleasant stretch from their activities the night before. It had been so different than their wedding night. So much more pleasant and Crowley had been so attentive. She had thought the wedding night had been good but now, comparing the two, she could see how Crowley's touches had been perfunctory. Last night had been anything but. 

And this morning. Not even beginning to think about this morning. She wanted such a thing every day.

She hoped Crowley wanted it too.

Crowley said he had work after he’d left her in the morning, that he wouldn't see her until supper so perhaps she could prepare something nice. An image of Crowley biting into a strawberry offered from the tips of her fingers rose in her mind. She shivered. 

She would make something Cook had taught her and then they could see where the night led. Aziraphale hoped it would lead straight to bed.

* * *

Crowley didn't have that much work to do. He was just distracted. And also terrified.

He kept thinking about the sounds Aziraphale made, the heat of her body. He spilled two inkwells and nearly ruined a pair of trousers in the process.

There had been implications it would happen again, but they hadn't talked about it. What if Aziraphale regretted it? What if she'd just been lonely?

Crowley barely got anything done, chasing his thoughts in circles. When dinner time came, his nerves were frayed to the breaking point. They had shared so many nice meals. Was that ruined?

Aziraphale was already at the table when he went into the dining room. She glanced up at him and offered him a nervous smile. "Your favorite roasted chicken."

Crowley took a seat in his usual chair and picked at his food in the dreadful silence that descended. 

He sipped wine and wondered when he could beg off to go upstairs and hide. Or maybe go to the greenhouse. There was still some sunlight.

And then Aziraphale laughed, a thready nervous thing.

"This is awkward, isn't it?" Aziraphale said quietly and Crowley’s heart dropped into his stomach.

"I just can't stop thinking about how I’d rather be kissing you than sitting here eating dinner."

Crowley's fork clattered against his plate. "Why don't you?"

Aziraphale turned pink and put down her own fork. "I thought maybe you didn't want me too."

"You can kiss me anytime you like," Crowley said vehemently.

"Oh." Aziraphale looked at the table and then stood abruptly. Before Crowley could ask, Aziraphale was there in front of him, slotting their mouths together inexpertly and yet still enough to make his body sing. 

* * *

It was his hands. Utterly distracting. Aziraphale kept glancing at them and thinking about the way they had felt touching her. He had very nice fingers, long and deft and Aziraphale knew what they could do inside her. Oh lord. How did married people get anything done? Her appetite fled. 

Could she ask? Not so long ago, she had been able to speak to Crowley about anything. Did intercourse change that? The silence between them felt charged to the point of awkwardness. 

But looking at Crowley, her stomach felt wobbly and her knees weak and she wanted to kiss him again so badly that she feared if she let the silence grow it would become too much for either of them to bear.

She should have known Crowley would say yes. They cared about each other. They’d both had fun the night before. Having fun together was what they did.

And now Crowley grasped her waist and stood, pulling her close as they kissed. Her whole body felt like liquid as their tongues slid together and Crowley made a delicate sound against her mouth. 

He was already hard for her, something that made her preen. She would tease him for it if the tops of her thighs didn't betray her own arousal. 

Her buttocks pressed against the edge of the table and Crowley pushed her back until she sat upon it, legs spread, so he could slip between them. “Is kissing always like this?” she asked when they separated to breathe.

“No,” Crowley replied simply and kissed her again.

She loved the way he fit between her legs, his slim hips a perfect pressure. She reached for the buttons of his breeches, wanting to touch more of him.

He froze.

“Please,” she said against his mouth. “I want you again. Like last night.”

Crowley dropped his head onto her shoulder and his hands slid from her waist to her hips, all the way down to her thighs. She thought he would say no again and her heart sank, but then he was hiking up her skirts and undoing his own trousers and thank the heavens above he was inside her.

She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder as he grasped her hips and pulled her to the very edge of the table. She went willingly, full as she was, tingling and already happy to have been given what she wanted. And then Crowley began to move, starting with long, deep strokes that seemed to press against something inside her that had her tumbling towards her peak. She hadn’t climaxed with Crowley inside her the night before. She hadn’t thought —

Crowley thrust harder and all thought fled. 

“Oh,” she gasped. “Crowley, that’s…”

He kissed her neck and snapped his hips and she saw stars, brief flashes of pleasure culminating in a wave so intense that she couldn’t stop herself from digging her fingers into Crowley’s back as she came.

“Did you just—”

“Yes. Don’t stop,” she moaned, wrapping her legs around him and urging him closer. 

His hands tightened on her hips and then he groaned. “Angel. I’m not— I won’t last. I’ve got to…”

He pulled out and she felt his release against one of her thighs, hot as it dripped down her skin. She had tasted it that morning, bitter heat. What would it be like to have it on her chest? Her face? Her cunt ached at the thought.

Goodness, she was a lustful thing.

He looked at her, concern writ on his face, so she kissed him and said, "That was perfect."

He made a short, wounded noise and clutched at her thighs before pulling away to clean up.

"It was."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE WILL BE NO BABIES IN THIS FIC AND DISCUSSION OF BIRTH CONTROL WILL OCCUR SOON IT JUST DIDNT FIT IN THIS CHAPTER AGAIN NO BABIES IF YOU'RE THINKING ABOUT PULL OUT METHOD AND BRIDGERTON AND BABIES AGAIN THAT'S COINCIDENCE I'M SORRY  
> (and maybe you haven't seen bridgerton but I feel if you're a big regency romance fan and you're here, you probably did watch it so I felt I must make this note)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Happy Friday! Can I say I've been so thrilled by the positive response to this story? I was more nervous to post this than anything in recent memory and the enthusiasm and excitement has been fortifying as all get out. I'm terrible at replying to comments these days, spotty at best but wow we've gotten some wonderfully insightful and kind things said and I'm very very grateful.
> 
> This chapter is straight up lemons and the art reflects that so proceed with the caution NSFW visuals deserve.

They started having sex all the time. In the mornings when she woke up pressed against Crowley’s side, it wouldn’t take long to turn into roaming hands and needy gasps. In the evenings, it turned out their reduced staff was a boon because more than once they grew distracted after dinner in the drawing room, and on a memorable occasion, during chess, she ended up half-dressed on the floor of the drawing room with Crowley’s fingers inside her, bringing her to orgasm not once, but twice.

They had talked briefly of the possibility of children when Aziraphale questioned his tendency to withdraw from her before the act was finished, and by mutual agreement, decided that hands and mouths or pulling out would be preferred over any incidents. Crowley had turned red and said something about _other holes_ , but before Aziraphale could press for more information, he’d pushed her back against the pillows and put his mouth to use between her legs. 

With all this new activity, spring seemed bright and lovely and Aziraphale’s continued attempts at redecorating the library slowed even as she found more joy in doing so. Crowley had helped her pick out a new sofa from the catalogue from London. It was much larger than the old reading chair and he’d said something lascivious about the uses of a bit more room that Aziraphale squirmed just thinking about.

It was during a rare break from their time together—Aziraphale did like time to herself occasionally—that a letter arrived. From Anathema of all people. Addressed to her rather than Crowley. Inviting her to visit Anathema’s house in London.

While Aziraphale had enjoyed Anathema’s company the two times they had met, the woman was Crowley’s friend and she had trouble understanding the cause of such an invitation. She would need to ask Crowley.

Business had been smooth and after much cajoling on his part, he’d gotten Aziraphale to provide him a list of flowers and fruits and vegetables she enjoyed. He’d been spending more time in the greenhouse and the garden since the weather had grown warm. Aziraphale had not often interrupted his work there and she realized as she stepped inside the greenhouse that she had forgotten what Crowley looked like in his element.

Pushing open the door, the steam of the greenhouse greeted her, the room heated by the sun beating through the glass panels. Crowley worked at one of the tables, frowning over some pots. He looked up at her entrance and his face transformed, frown disappearing, a grin taking its place. 

"Aziraphale!" he said, extracting his hands from the dirt. A small plant was cradled in his palm and he placed it in a pot before dusting the rest of the dirt from his hands. Aziraphale’s cheeks grew hot. She was rooted in place at the sight of him. She had a hot, squirmy feeling in her stomach that she was starting to recognize. Crowley wasn't wearing a waistcoat, only his white shirt. It was tucked into his tight trousers and it made his hips look so very slim. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms, the way they tapered to his wrists, his strong knuckles and long fingers that Aziraphale so often fantasized about. And they were _dirty,_ and Crowley wasn't wearing a cravat and she could see a tiny bead of sweat gathering in the notch at the base of his throat.

She suddenly felt very faint.

"You alright, angel?" Crowley asked as he picked up a scrap of fabric to wipe his hands and Aziraphale needed to touch him immediately. 

The best part about the change in their relationship was that she could.

Striding across the greenhouse, she fisted her hands in his shirt and rose up on her toes to kiss him. He grunted in surprise but met her kiss easily, opening to her when she tried to deepen the kiss.

His hands came up to cup her face, sinking into her hair. Some of the pins came loose as his fingers jostled the curls and then he jerked away, apologizing. "Shit, sorry. Dirt."

"I don’t care," Aziraphale said, pulling his shirt from his trousers. "Kiss me again."

Crowley made a noise in his chest. The loveliest noise. Like Aziraphale had just said something perfect. And then he kissed her again, dirty hands forgotten.

His chest was slightly damp with sweat when Aziraphale finally got her hands on it. Her belly clenched as she touched him, feeling the muscles of his sides skip under her palms. When she’d kissed him, her only real goal had been this, to get her hand under his shirt and now that she had, she sighed and leaned into him. Her legs were quickly going wobbly and she leaned against the table beside her. Crowley took it as an opportunity to push her back against it.

They’d had sex now on most of the flat surfaces in the house. The dining room table that first night, the card table one memorable evening and they had lost a chess piece, even Aziraphale’s vanity had been used for some purpose or other. Apparently, the greenhouse was not to be spared.

Crowley urged her up onto the table, barely breaking the kiss. He cupped her neck in his hands as their mouths slid together, filthy and full of heat. When they finally broke apart, it was as he pulled up her skirt. There were filthy handprints on her waist, the sight of which sent little zings of excitement through her. 

"Lay back," Crowley said, voice drowsy and dark as he brushed his hand down her belly.

She did as he said, having learned that when they worked together in the bedroom (or on whatever table) things got exciting very quickly. Her bum was on the edge of the table and she dropped back on her elbows, stomach performing rather amazing feats of gymnastics as Crowley went to his knees between her legs. He pulled up her skirts and hooked her legs up over his shoulders. The fabric of her dress pooled around her as he buried his face in her sex.

"Oh, good Lord," she gasped, hand slapping flat on the wood of the table as her back arched at the first touch of his tongue. Compared to his hands, he was so gentle when he did this. She loved the way he fluttered his tongue, so careful and clever. Goosebumps broke out over her thighs as she let Crowley do as he pleased between her legs. She looked down her torso and felt she might combust at the sight. Crowley’s nose was pressed tight to her body, buried in the curls at the crux of her legs as he sucked her. His gaze met hers. There was something in his eyes that made her chest feel tight. He pulled off and his chin was wet, his lips red, and Aziraphale couldn’t look anymore as he pressed sucking kisses to her thighs that made her breath catch. Then his mouth was back where she needed it, rolling his tongue gently over her clitoris before he sucked it into his mouth. Aziraphale cast out with her hands and cried out. Distantly, she heard something shatter as pleasure broke over her, making her legs shake. She was never going to get used to how good Crowley could make her feel.

* * *

Against Crowley's expectations, Aziraphale wanted to have sex all the time. She woke him up one morning shortly after the change in their relationship by kissing his chest and then taking his cock in her mouth. Better than any dream (and he'd had a few just like it) and she had looked so pleased with herself afterwards like she'd figured out some secret and Crowley simply had to reciprocate but she'd demanded his fingers instead of his mouth. Apparently, she preferred them.

He ended up using both and wrung two orgasms out of her before breakfast. It was a very good day.

Now, having her glistening cunt on display for him in his greenhouse of all places had his cock aching. He gripped Aziraphale’s thighs tighter as she trembled and caught her breath. She rose up on her elbows and looked down at him. There was dirt smeared across her cheeks and neck and whatever guilt Crowley might have felt for getting her dirty was washed away by a wave of possessiveness. Silly as it was to think like that at all, she had let him put those marks on her. Unashamed, she had wanted him enough. His heart slammed against his ribcage and he bit down on some choice words he knew he shouldn't say lest he break the delicate and precious thing they had begun to make together.

"Oh, your plants!" Aziraphale gasped.

Confused, Crowley dropped her legs and sat back on his haunches. "What?"

"I broke the pots," she said apologetically, pointing at two smashed pots on the ground. A few green shoots poked out of the spilled dirt.

"S'fine. They deserved it," Crowley said dismissively. "Lay back down. We were just getting started."

"No," she said with a pout. "It's your turn."

"Aziraphale," Crowley said warningly. This was a common argument. She got up in arms about 'taking turns' while Crowley tried to make it clear she was far more capable of multiple orgasms than he was and that he was more than happy to provide. What he didn't say was that his time between her legs felt as close as possible to the thing he wanted. As if, maybe, if he brought her enough pleasure, did the right thing, she could find her way to loving him the way he loved her. Not to say he wasn’t happy. He was. Sometimes he felt like he was burning out from the inside with how happy he was.

" _Crowley_ ," she retorted, mocking his tone.

He sighed. The issue was that he never won the argument. "Let’s go inside. Get you cleaned up."

After some very characteristic grumbling on Aziraphale’s part, Crowley helped Aziraphale off the table and brushed off the worst of the dirt.

“Sorry about your dress,” Crowley said, a strange sense of awkwardness coming over him as they walked across the grounds. He could still taste her on his tongue and if he hadn’t put a stop to things, they would probably have been back in the greenhouse tangled together. He needn’t feel awkward. And yet.

“It’s no trouble, dear,” Aziraphale said, following him in through the kitchen door. “It’s quite old. A bit tight actually.”

“Let me draw you a bath,” he offered, and, feeling emboldened by her earlier interest, thinking of how urgent her hands had been beneath her shirt, he drew close to her back and brushed his nose over the nape of her neck. He wanted to be able to show her this sort of affection. Not just have sex with her. “I could wash your hair.”

She gasped, a sound that was almost a laugh, and leaned back against him ever so slightly. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

Smiling at his own success, he kissed her gently before pulling away. “Go get a change of clothes and I'll heat the water for the bath downstairs.”

Crowley set to work, lighting the fire near the tub to keep the room warm, and the water starting out as hot as possible.

When Aziraphale returned, it was only in her shift and dressing gown, filthy dress discarded somewhere upstairs. She smiled at Crowley as he helped her out of the robe and set it aside on the chair in the corner of the room. Having an entire room just for bathing sometimes seemed a useless luxury but Crowley enjoyed the quiet it afforded. And now this, watching Aziraphale sink into the tub with a sigh made it worth every penny.

"That’s wonderful," she said, eyes drifting shut as Crowley began to unpin her hair. She'd clearly scrubbed some of the dirt from her face in the washbasin upstairs but there were still flecks in her hair and trails down her neck. 

"Aren't you getting in?" she asked when all her curls were down around her shoulders, corn silk turning gold in the water.

He choked and nearly fumbled the cup he was trying to set up on the stool by the tub. "Don't want to—don’t want to crowd you. Bony knees."

"Mm, I think I'd like to be crowded," she said, sitting up and wrapping her hands around her knees to make space behind her. Crowley hesitated for only a moment before peeling his shirt over his head. She just looked so vulnerable there in the bath. He wanted to curl around her, hold her close. It didn't even feel lustful. It wasn't the urge that drove him to get his hands up under her skirts in the drawing room, it was something soft and protective and more of that pathetic love Crowley wished he could bury a bit deeper in the pits of his heart.

He slipped in the water behind Aziraphale. Complaints aside, he had commissioned as large a tub as he could back when he'd decided to keep a room for this, and the fit wasn't too tight. She settled back between his legs and sank deeper into the water.

"See?" she said, slightly smug. "Lovely."

Crowley kept his hands on the sides of the tub for the moment, putting aside the urge to wrap them around her. He wanted to fill his hands with her breasts, palm the hills of her belly and hips and maybe spread her thighs apart once more. But she seemed relaxed rather than aroused and he didn't want to press for something she didn't want.

"Your hair?" Crowley asked after a moment, and Aziraphale hummed her agreement. He grabbed the cup from the stool beside the tub and rinsed her hair, tipping her head back to keep the water from rushing into her eyes. 

"What did you come out to the greenhouse for?" Crowley asked as he began to rub suds into her hair.

"Oh! Yes! Anathema wrote to me," Aziraphale said. Crowley smoothed the excess soap down her shoulders and rubbed it into her skin. He loved being able to touch her like this. Just two weeks ago it would have been unthinkable and now they were here, skin to skin. 

"Did she?" 

Aziraphale leaned back again as Crowley rinsed the soap from her hair. "She invited me to visit her in London."

Crowley dropped the cup into the bath. "What? Anathema?"

"I was quite surprised as well, but it seemed rather sweet. What do you think?”

Crowley ran over all the possible awful things Anathema could say to Aziraphale if they spent time alone together. But Aziraphale looked at him with open excitement and he gave in. Besides, Anathema was his friend first. She would hardly betray his confidence.

"I think you should go if you'd like to," he replied diplomatically.

Aziraphale wiggled and the water sloshed against the edges of the tub. The movement pressed her bum against Crowley's front, and he closed his eyes as a not insignificant amount of blood rushed to his cock. She had to be able to feel it against the small of her back. He hoped it didn’t feel like an imposition to her. Or that she was uncomfortable.

"Splendid. I'll write back tomorrow."

"Splendid," Crowley echoed through gritted teeth.

Aziraphale leaned back with a sigh and hooked one of his arms over her shoulder, pillowing her head on his chest as she played with his fingers. Not uncomfortable then.

"It will be strange to go to town without you," she said quietly.

"Worried you'll miss me?" he teased, pressing his nose into her hair. It smelled of lemons now and his heart responded like a well-trained dog.

"I’m certain I will," she said like it was a matter of fact. The earth went round the sun and Aziraphale would miss Crowley.

He sucked in a breath.

"You have lovely hands," she said as if nothing of consequence had passed. "Do you ever play the pianoforte?"

"I'm afraid I don't," Crowley said, amazed he could even speak.

She played with the tips of his fingers idly. "Before we…" She made a flapping gesture with her free hand. "Started all this. I noticed how lovely they were. I thought about them...sometimes…"

The one-two punch of the conversation at hand had Crowley reeling. "Angel, are you saying you fantasized about _my hands_?"

Doing a very poor job of hiding her blush, Aziraphale turned her head away and kissed the knuckle at the base of his thumb. It sent a tingle all the way up his arm. How long had she been looking and thinking like that?

"I'll do as I please," Aziraphale retorted and Crowley pulled her as close as he could.

"Didn't know you were such a pervert," he said, nosing at the nape of her neck. Teasing her was all he could do. He couldn’t say what he wanted to, and this fought down the _I love you_ in his throat.

"Crowley!"

"But that's alright. Maybe I’m a pervert too," he said, squeezing her hips and nipping at her shoulder. She squeaked and wriggled until he stopped, allowing them to finally relax in the water. They stayed like that until it was too cool for comfort. It was only then Crowley realized Aziraphale was half asleep.

"Angel," he said mildly irritated but mostly amused. "You need to get out of the bath before you pickle."

"Wassat?"

He sighed and prodded her until he was able to bundle her into her robe. His own shirt was enough to keep him decent enough to take him upstairs to change even if he should have thought ahead.

As soon as he went into his chamber, Aziraphale collapsed in his bed and scooted under the covers with a satisfied noise. 

"Are you taking a nap then?" he asked as he tore off his wet, dirty shirt and pulled on a clean one.

"I would be if someone wasn't talking to me," she retorted.

He laughed. "Alright. I'll leave you to it."

She sat up and frowned. "Aren't you going to join me?"

Crowley hesitated. 

"I'll sleep better if you hold me."

He needed to sit down. It was as if she knew exactly what to say to cut through every single defense he managed to erect. 

"Not that you have to stay, of course," she said in a rush. "If you have things to do."

Her cheeks were pink, and her hair was drying wildly, and Crowley was so far gone that it was useless.

"Nah, you know me. Can always sleep."

Aziraphale smiled bright enough to rival the sun. "Wonderful."

That decided, he didn't bother putting on trousers before sliding into the linens beside her. She made a little happy noise that made his stomach swoop, then she shuffled closer and wrapped an arm loosely over his waist.

"Thank you for the bath, my dear," she said. Her smile was soft, and her eyes were as blue as early spring periwinkles. "And for staying with me."

She closed the short distance between them and kissed him. She exhaled softly. Crowley's heart caught in the breath between that kiss and when her lips found his again.

* * *

She'd meant it to be a short kiss. A thank you kiss but then Crowley's mouth had been so soft, so warm and kissing him had felt as good as sinking into that bath and she didn't want to stop. So she took a second kiss which lasted longer. And a third kiss that made her heart race.

Her whole body was still warm from her bath, relaxed from everywhere Crowley had touched her. It felt so easy to kiss him now, to slide her hands around his back and under his shirt, to revel in that gorgeous sound he made against her mouth when she urged him on top of her.

The kiss broke on a gasp as he moved between her legs, the fabric of her dressing gown falling open. He kissed her neck and asked, quiet between them, "What do you want, angel?"

She pushed her hands up under his shirts to caress his shoulder blades, enjoying the warmth of his back as she kissed him again, unhurried. Had they done this before? They’d had sex nearly every day for the past fortnight, but it had always been such a rush of lust and desperation. This slow coming together was delicious. They had nowhere to be. Nothing to do but enjoy each other’s warmth.

"You inside me," she said when she finally pulled back to breathe. She nudged his hip with her thigh and reached between them to grasp his length and guide it inside her.

They both moaned as they came together, Crowley rising onto his elbows so he could rock his hips. He brushed her hair from her face and kissed her as she hooked one leg around him, rising up to meet his slow thrusts. It was different. Her stomach felt hot with the same pleasure that always grew within her but so did her chest. She wrapped her arms around Crowley and tried to push away the strange sensation, utterly overwhelmed. 

That was all it was perhaps, being overwhelmed as they moved together. Their hands found each other in the blankets and the heat in Aziraphale’s belly spread to fill her body and her climax slipped through her as she gasped Crowley's name. He groaned and kissed her, not stopping the steady rolling of his hips until she was boneless against the bed. He buried his nose in her neck as he pulled out, spilling onto his shirt which he tore off and tossed aside in favor of pulling her back into his arms.

They curled against the pillows and a relaxation so complete stole over Aziraphale that her eyes drifted shut without her permission. Crowley was busy drawing circles on the bare skin of her shoulder where her dressing gown had pulled open and seemed content to let her rest.

"That was different," she said, not opening her eyes.

Crowley froze.

"We usually go so fast," Aziraphale said, finishing her thought. "I liked this too. It was nice."

Then she curled her head onto Crowley’s chest and fell asleep in truth.

* * *

Crowley had cocked things up. Aziraphale had come to him for sex and he thought he could provide and then he’d gone and turned soft and made love to her. She'd noticed too. She just hadn't been able to name it. 

He needed to take a step back before he ruined the entire arrangement they had. By anyone’s standards, their marriage was good. He needed to expect less and keep his heart to himself. This was sex. Good sex. He’d had plenty of good sex before. He could pull back on the making love and it would be fine.

Except now that he’d done it once, he found he couldn’t stop. And Aziraphale _liked_ it.

He tried to go back to their usual pace that evening when things turned heated after their shared wine, pushed his hand between her legs, to fuck her like he usually did, Aziraphale had kissed him softly and grasped his wrist to stay his movements. She guided his hand gently and rolled her hips, fucking his fingers slow and easy before breaking the kiss and saying, “Slower. Like before.”

What was he to do in the face of something like that? So he went slower, and it was more of the same and it felt as if he was pouring every bit of himself into their kisses as Aziraphale moved in his lap. He wasn’t going to survive it.

She was going to visit Anathema soon. Maybe then he could spend some time thinking with his head instead of with his cock.

It would have been easier if they didn’t spend so much time together. Not that Crowley would trade it for anything. He was happier than he’d ever been in his life. They would go on walks around the grounds, picnics and the like, go riding and have _fun_ because Aziraphale was fun and when Aziraphale smiled at him and said she was happy, it didn’t hurt. He was happy too.

Two days before Aziraphale’s departure to London, the weather was fine, and they walked to the village to take in the lovely day. Upon their return to Crowley’s estate, Aziraphale declared they absolutely must watch the ducks, so he laid out his coat on the grass beneath the tree and they sat, watching the birds do silly things among the reeds.

"I’m so pleased it’s spring,” Aziraphale said after some time.

“Not for winter then, are you?” Crowley asked, knocking their shoulders together. 

Aziraphale laughed and laid back on his coat. “Winter has its benefits, I suppose, but I do love the flowers.”

“There _are_ flowers,” Crowley admitted. He dropped onto his side and looked at her as she stretched out and smiled.

“You also seem much happier in spring,” she said quietly, reaching out to take his hand. His breath caught in his throat and he said nothing. He did prefer the spring and summer months; the doldrums of late autumn and winter could drag him into sullen moods.

He cleared his throat and fell onto his back. “I am I suppose.”

They stared at the shifting leaves for some time before he felt her hand press against his once more. "Could you kiss me?"

He rose up on his elbow and his breath caught at the sight of her, sun dappled and beautiful. "I said you can kiss me anytime you like."

"Maybe I want you to kiss me," she said, toying with one of the bottom edges of his waistcoat. His heart felt too big, like some great bird spreading its wings.

He brought his hand to her cheek and she leaned into it as her eyes fluttered shut. Perhaps this was it, all he'd get. Aziraphale leaning in. It wasn't the love he wanted but it was acceptance of his affection, it was some type of want. She surely had to know by now even if he didn’t say it.

The wings in his chest beat madly when he pressed his thumb gently against her mouth, watching it part before he did as she asked. He kissed her gently, the sort of kiss the afternoon deserved.

Aziraphale kissed him back, matching the pace. Trading breath and gentle sipping kisses as their noses brushed. Crowley smoothed his hand down her body and let it rest on her waist.

When they separated, Aziraphale hummed happily as her eyes fluttered open. "Mm, I love kissing you."

It was meant kindly, gently even, but it hurt and Crowley duck his head to kiss her jaw, laying down on his side to catch his breath and put a stop to the awful tumult of gratitude as it crashed into disappointment. This was all he was ever going to get from Aziraphale, and he should be grateful, but he was a greedy awful thing.

He sighed and brushed his thumb over the dip in her waist. Moving his hand, he caressed the swell of Aziraphale’s hip. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, voice taking on a now familiar husky quality. "Are you—"

"Let me make you feel good," he said, skating his knuckles under her stomach and letting his hand rest where he knew she was probably already wet from their kissing. The thought made his stomach twist with heat and he pressed down gently with his fingers as she squirmed. 

"We're outside," she mumbled but her legs were already parting.

"It’s just us, angel," he whispered, cupping the heat of her through her dress. She moaned.

"Please, Crowley."

"Is that a yes?" he teased, and she nodded, hands fisting in the coat he'd laid beneath her.

Carefully, he pulled up her dress, enjoying the sight of her stockings then her pretty dimpled knees. He ran his hand up her thighs and between her legs, relishing her full body shiver as his fingers barely touched her damp curls.

He was hard in trousers and it would be difficult to ignore but they could get to that later. Maybe back home. Spreading her open with his fingers, he traced her inner folds. She liked when he dipped the tip of his finger just inside but not yet. He wanted to tease her. 

He circled her clit with his forefinger, rubbing it lazily, and enjoying Aziraphale’s moans, barely adding any pressure whatsoever until she began to squirm. If he drew it out long enough, she’d be perfectly on the edge. Just when her breathing started to escalate, he rubbed two fingers down her length, spreading her slick and pushing them into her so she could grind against the heel of his palm. She cried out as she came with a small shudder. 

"Oh my," she said when the tremors faded. "That was lovely."

Crowley kissed her hair and said, "I’m not done, angel."

He slipped his middle finger all the way inside her and her back arched. A pretty picture indeed, Aziraphale gasping in the sun dappled grass as he slowly fucked her with his hand.

Withdrawing carefully, he memorized the way she rolled her body into him, soft breasts pushed into his chest, thighs shaking. He slid his fingers on either side of her clit over and over before gently circling it with his forefinger.

"Can you come for me again?" he asked quietly, a delicate breath in her ear. She was clutching at his coat beneath her but her little sounds of pleasure had fallen away, replaced by a desperate hitching in her breath.

"I don't—" Her words broke as her hips pushed into his hand. He gentled his strokes, another tease.

"Come on, angel.” He kissed her neck and touched her until she cried out once more, hands clutching at his arm to stay him. 

“Crowley,” she moaned, tugging at him. “Kiss me. Please.”

He did and she tried to get inside his clothes, but he nudged her hands away. “Not right now.”

She frowned. “Crowley,” she said, his name much less pleasure-laced how that his hand wasn’t between her legs.

He rearranged her skirts to cover her and said, “I’ve got nothing to clean up with and don’t fancy having a mess in my trousers.”

Not to say, he also wasn’t in the mood for the emotions that always came with his orgasms. It was too intense, too much. He kissed her swiftly, playfully, trying to clear the petulance from her expression and the anxiety from his own heart.

“Let’s go back to the house. You need to finish packing for London.”

“I see,” Aziraphale grumbled as Crowley helped her up. “Stick your hand up my quim and that’s it.”

Crowley swatted at her arse and she jumped. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it. And who taught you that word?”

“Really, Crowley, I _read_ ,” she said, swatting his arse in return. They tussled playfully until she had him backed against the tree, coat forgotten on the ground. She looked up at him through her lashes and played with the buttons of his waistcoat as she said, “I could suck you. No mess.”

The air left Crowley’s lungs in a long wheeze.

She slid her hands around his waist, up under his waistcoat, the heat of them lingering on the tops of his trousers. “You’ve gotten me in the mood, my dear. If you really don’t want to, that’s fine, but I hope you’re not prevaricating on my account.”

She sank to her knees in front of him, hands hesitating on the fastening of his breeches as she looked up at him hopefully. 

“Christ,” he breathed, sinking one hand into her hair. She smiled and rubbed her cheek against his hip as she quickly undid his trousers.

Self-control had never been his strong suit after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There MAY be a delay in posting the next chapter just due a higher level of rewrite needed. TBD.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! We did indeed skip last week in order to give us time to catch up. I have strong-armed Val into allowing me to post a day early because my posting date for the do-it-with-style RBB is tomorrow and I didn't want to be double posting!
> 
> This chapter is a case of "if this were a real novel I probably would have glossed over the sex but because it is fanfiction, I wrote it out for you because we are all horny." I did very much enjoy writing it out ;)
> 
> The chapter count is sitting pretty at 13 chapters which is actually 12 chapters and an epilogue. 
> 
> There's a little breeze of a moment of biphobia in this chapter from Aziraphale but it does come from a place of not understanding sexuality (as most of that stuff does). As well as some discussions of polyamory where she reacts in a similar ???? manner.

Anathema’s London townhome was lovely, less grand than her country house but Aziraphale thought it suited the young woman perfectly. It felt more modern, lighter than her other estate.

“I’m so glad you were able to come!” she said once Aziraphale was settled and changed.

The journey to London had been long and lonely without Crowley to spend the time with, but Aziraphale had been looking forward to being in town again so she bore it best she could.

“I do appreciate the invitation,” Aziraphale replied when they sat down for supper and despite some nerves about not being able to converse with someone like Anathema, she found the woman’s manners, though abrasive at first, eventually put her at ease once she knew the woman's interest in her was purely social. Anathema wanted to be her friend.

“How long have you known Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, not too long after they retired to Anathema’s drawing room, a much smaller place than the one in her country home. 

Anathema poured them both drinks and grinned. “Years now. Four? Perhaps five. I met him through my grandmother first but imagine my surprise when I saw him at one of Tracy’s parties. It turned out we had a great deal in common.”

“Fast friends then?”

“Fast friends,” Anathema confirmed. “It’s been pleasant to know he’s found such kinship with you as well. After his parents forced the marriage, you can imagine he wasn’t looking forward to it.”

Aziraphale laughed bitterly. “I wasn’t either. Though now, I can’t imagine why I would have wanted to spend another day in the same house as my brother.”

“Crowley had some choice words to say about him,” Anathema said with a smirk hidden in the rim of her cup.

“All of them were most likely true,” Aziraphale said. “And I know it’s not at all the same. Crowley was prepared to hide a great deal of his life away from some stranger.”

“But he didn’t have to,” Anathema said kindly. “And we’re all grateful for it. We missed Crowley at parties.”

Aziraphale frowned and looked at her feet. “I worry he still hides some of them from me.”

“He’s not going to any without you,” Anathema said, stretching out in her lounge without a care. It reminded Aziraphale very much of Crowley and, of all things, that put her at ease. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No,” Aziraphale shook her head and tucked her own legs up on the sofa. “I’m worried he’s saying no to invitations or...not doing things he would have done prior to our marriage. I want him to be happy and I don’t want to be a burden.”

Anathema cocked her head, regarding her for a long moment. “You care about him.”

“Crowley is my best friend,” Aziraphale said earnestly. It was the truth. Crowley meant so much to her after all this time and the thought of him putting aside his wants to keep her comfortable broke her heart.

“Well, you should probably speak to Crowley about the things he’d like to do, but some of these parties do involve a fair bit of sex,” she said frankly. “He’d never pressure you into anything and since you’re not sleeping together, I’m sure he’s just uncomfortable putting you in a position to have to see that and where people would expect you two to put on a show.”

Aziraphale choked on her drink, prompting Anathema to sit up and set aside her cup.

“Wait.”

Aziraphale blushed and looked at her lap.

“Are you…”

Aziraphale nodded. 

“Yes!” Anathema cried, clapping her hands. “Finally! Crowley said he wanted— this is wonderful. How long have you— are you enjoying— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

Anathema looked like she might burst with curiosity and, despite the burning in her cheeks, Aziraphale swallowed and said, “It actually, um, started after the dinner party. With you and Newt.”

Anathema’s grin was so wide that Aziraphale was almost glad she had shared. In fact, she was glad. She realized that she had absolutely no one to talk about this with except Crowley and as nice as it was to speak with Crowley, speaking with Crowley about having sex with Crowley wasn’t entirely appealing.

“We did our duty on our wedding night,” Aziraphale said, wringing her hands and glancing at the other women. When all she got was an encouraging nod, she continued, “But it was terribly awkward and I’m afraid I was rude and there wasn’t—suffice it to say, we had not _shared a marriage bed_ since then.”

Anathema let out a high-pitched squealing noise. “Crowley must be over the moon.”

“Well, I don’t know if _over the moon_...” Aziraphale said but Anathema was already going on.

“How are you preventing pregnancy?” she asked, pushing her glasses up her nose and Aziraphale had the sudden sense of being questioned by a schoolteacher. “I presume you are preventing pregnancy.”

Aziraphale felt rather faint at the sudden topic change. “Crowley doesn’t—he doesn’t...you know… _finish_ inside me.”

Anathema took on a pinched look. “There’s far better ways than that. I’ve got a tea my grandmother swears by. I use it all the time and I’ve never had any trouble. I’ll send you back with some.”

Aziraphale blinked, her stomach fluttering at the thought of Crowley being able to stay inside her til the end. She’d not wanted to complain, appreciating the consideration since she certainly did not want a child, but she struggled with the sensation of loneliness when he pulled away.

“That would be lovely,” she said, a bit in awe at Anathema’s frank demeanor about a topic no one had ever considered discussing with her.

She shouldn’t have been surprised really, but it turned out Anathema knew a great deal about sex and, in passing, when they ended up talking about masturbation, and Aziraphale complained that her fingers were too small to reach inside her that Crowley found with such ease, the other woman laughed.

“There are tools for that, Aziraphale!” At which point Anathema produced polished wooden what she called _dildo_ from a box she retrieved from her bedroom.

“You can use them on yourself of course,” she said. “But there are also straps you can add that allow you to use it like your own cock.”

Aziraphale’s face was so hot she was certain it was steaming. “Excuse me?”

“You should discuss it with Crowley,” Anathema said, putting the dildo away. “I’m certain he would like it.”

Aziraphale was presented with the picture of laying Crowley out on a bed and doing to him exactly what he so often did to her. Holding him by the hips and pushing inside his body and— 

"Do you— have you done that?"

"Sometimes," Anathema said. "I did it more often when I took lovers that were women but Newt and I occasionally—"

"Oh dear."

"I do miss women," Anathema said, stroking her box of dildos idly as she reclined on her couch. "Perhaps at the next party."

"But aren't you and Newt together?"

“That’s my favorite thing about Newt actually. His willingness to be my primary partner but being open to other partners. Together and separate.” Anathema smiled wistfully. 

Aziraphale gaped. She remembered the conversation at dinner over a month ago about Adam and Pepper marrying to preserve their ability to have relationships to their preference but this seemed entirely different. Being with someone you loved but still pursuing others seemed so strange to Aziraphale.

"People have those sorts of relationships?" Aziraphale asked incredulously. Anathema gave her a sympathetic look.

"It was the arrangement Crowley was going to try to set up with you if I recall but that was before you found out about everything. I think it's common in arranged marriages. And not totally infrequent in our social circles."

Aziraphales stomach turned to ice. Crowley wanted to sleep with other people. Of course he wanted to sleep with other people. Aziraphale was boring and old and their bedroom activities wouldn’t be exciting forever. And Crowley had mentioned enjoying sleeping with men and women and at Anathema’s party it seemed Miss Ashtoreth was known for some amount of skill in the art of seduction. Aziraphale would never live up to that. No matter how many books she read or how she tried.

All of Aziraphale’s earlier insecurities returned. Was Crowley happy with everything Aziraphale had to offer? Her heart ached and she wished more than anything that he was here for her to ask. Crowley didn’t lie to her about these things. She could ask and he would answer and it would be all cleared up and they could go back to being happy together as friends who enjoyed each other in the bedroom.

Oh, but what if he _did_ want to take other lovers? Aziraphale couldn’t think about it right then. She was being a poor guest, falling off into her thoughts while Anathema chattered happily about how she had never considered marriage but how Newt really was an ideal candidate. Aziraphale was happy for her. She pushed aside her ill-timed musings and focused on her new friend. It would all work out. It would have to.

* * *

A little over three days apart and Crowley missed Aziraphale to the point of being vexed by it. He had certainly gone about his own business. He had managed by himself for many years without Aziraphale but she made his life _better_ and her sudden absence drained the warmth from every room. Put simply, things became quite boring without her.

Seeing her dismount from the carriage pulled a smile from him before he could even stop it. He waited in the open door, knowing he would get a smile in return once she noticed him.

"Crowley!" she said when she spied him. The coachman helped her step to the ground and she thanked him before hurrying across the walk. "I thought you'd be busy when I arrived."

"I happened to see the carriage approach," Crowley said, a half truth. He’d been waiting by the window in his study, distractedly working and knowing she would be arriving at some point that afternoon.

“Right, yes,” Aziraphale said, pausing on the doorstep in front of him. She shifted her weight on her feet and looked away. Crowley wanted to kiss her so badly but the distance between them seemed insurmountable. What if she didn’t want to be kissed? Crowley wouldn’t pressure her like that.

“I’m quite tired from my journey,” Aziraphale said finally. “I think I’d like to rest.”

"Of course," Crowley said, heart falling with his expectations as he moved out of the way to let her inside.

She pulled off her shawl and held it in her arms as the hired coachmen dropped her trunk just inside before departing. The door closed behind them and Aziraphale fiddled with one of her curls in the hallway mirror. She glanced at Crowley. He hadn’t seen her this nervous since the early days of their marriage.

"We can talk tonight. About your trip,'' Crowley said, not wanting to keep her because she said she wanted to rest. He'd been hoping she would return and she would want to kiss or touch or laze in the drawing room that way she liked with his head in her lap while she played with his hair. But that was ridiculous. That was far too intimate.

She frowned and paused at the foot of the stairs. “I was going to go to bed, but I was hoping…”

"What is it?"

"Well...I’m so _very_ tired. If you could just help me take off my stays..." Then she widened her eyes at him, fluttering her lashes, and pursing her lips in a little ridiculous moue and Crowley realized she was trying to be flirtatious and it was _terrible_ and he bloody loved her.

He tried not to trip over himself in his haste to follow after her, watching the ribbon at her waist sway with her hips as she moved. She’d just got home and the first thing she wanted was him. It was more than he could have hoped. It wasn't soft kisses and cuddling on the couch but…

As soon as the door to her room shut, Aziraphale turned to face him

"Need help with your stays?" he asked innocently. He leaned back against the door and grinned. 

"It wasn't actually about my stays, Crowley," Aziraphale said, exasperated. 

"Oh really?" Crowley asked, loving the color rising on her cheeks and _knowing_ he was about to get the kiss he’d been craving for three days. The awkwardness from downstairs was falling away as if it had never even existed. She drew closer and then she kissed him and it was everything he wanted. His nose pressed into her cheek as he cupped the back of her head and let the sudden kiss grow tender. She nipped delicately at his mouth before they separated.

"Anathema gave me something," Aziraphale said and the mention of his friend's name was enough to give Crowley pause.

“Anathema?”

"Some herbs," she said, dipping her fingers into the neck of Crowley's shirt and undoing his cravat like she couldn't stop touching him, like she wanted access to just another inch of skin. "To prevent a child even if you finish inside me."

Crowley swore. "Do you want me to do that?"

“Yes," she said and she began to kiss the soft place under his ear. His eyes drifted shut and he clutched at the back of her dress. "It always seemed so lonely when you pulled away."

Crowley kissed her again, harder as he tugged off her spencer jacket to leave her in just her dress. The kiss turned filthy fast and he pushed her back against the bed, hiking up her skirt. He was already planning ahead. He could get her off with his hand at least once before fucking her. His hand was on her inner thigh when she grasped it, stopping his movements.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said when they broke the kiss. She sounded hesitant. Concerned.

He rose up and pulled his hand away. Did she know about how he felt? Was that what the awkwardness had been about?

“Would you want to try something else?” she asked, not looking at him.

“What?”

That wasn’t what he expected.

“When we...when we engage in actual intercourse, we always do it with you on top,” Aziraphale said, scooting back on the bed, her legs falling open and to the sides of his hips.

“No, that one time. On the dining room table—” Crowley protested, not sure why Aziraphale was bringing this up _now_ when they’d been apart for three days and her stopping things to argue about positions was so...it was so…

Aziraphale.

“I don’t want you getting bored,” Aziraphale said petulantly. “Me just laying here while you...”

And then she made a gesture with her hand not unlike a fish flopping on a deck. He hoped that’s not what it felt like. But that wasn’t the only implication he took issue with.

"Bored? Why would I be bored?" Crowley asked incredulously as Aziraphale rose on her hands to sit up.

"Crowley, you don't have to humor me. I know you have a great deal more experience than I do and you're forced to show me how to do everything and to do most of the work and—"

"If you think for a second I _mind_ putting in effort so that we can both enjoy ourselves—"

"But what if you could enjoy yourself more, and I'm the reason you're not?"

Crowley sucked in a deep breath through his nose and reminded himself that yelling at Aziraphale was not going to solve the problem. He pushed in between her legs until his knees hit the edge of the bed and cupped her face in his hands before dipping down to kiss her again. His stomach twisted up in nerves. Why did _talking_ feel like such a risk?

He withdrew slightly, dropping his hands to her shoulders. "We have fun together, don't we?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"Chess. Cards. Everything we do. We enjoy ourselves."

She nodded again, eyes darting away.

"Do you like what we do together?" Crowley asked and that seemed to shake her.

"Of course I do," she rushed to say. Her hands came to circle his wrists. "Please don’t think otherwise."

“And if you like it, why wouldn’t I?”

"Yes," she said with a defeated sigh. "I’m being silly. You're right."

He kissed her again and she slid her hand around his neck to take control of the kiss. "Can we still try something new?" she asked hopefully when they broke apart. 

He thought he had a few ideas. 

"Get on the bed."

Aziraphale frowned. "Crowley, I am on the bed."

He rolled his eyes. "No. Take off your shoes and get on the bed properly. Onto your hands and knees."

She took off her shoes and stockings and crawled up onto the bed as Crowley took off his boots.

"Am I supposed to be doing something besides an admirable horse impression?" she asked when Crowley came up behind her on his knees.

"Perhaps you could think about whether or not I'm enjoying this," Crowley said as he lifted up her skirt and tucked it into the hem of her stays. He let his hands linger on her thighs and felt her skin pebble with gooseflesh under his touch.

“Crowley,” she said, voice going breathy as his hand snuck between her knees and pushed them apart. “Don’t tease me.”

They'd never fucked like this and he'd never had the opportunity to see her from this angle and it really was a lovely sight. Her wide hips and thighs were covered in thin silver stretch marks. Her arse was round and pale and Crowley was unable to stop himself from reaching out and squeezing it.

Aziraphale made a strange half-squeak-half-grunt. "What are you doing?"

"Admiring the view," he said. He could see a little peek of her pretty cunt between the apex of her thighs. Already flushed. If he touched here, he'd probably find her wet.

"Crowley," she complained again, wiggling her legs and that just made her arse shake and Crowley wanted to laugh at himself for how much he liked it.

He playfully leaned down and nipped at her bum. She squeaked again. 

“Do you think I’m enjoying myself yet?” he asked.

Before she could answer, he pressed his hand between her legs and dipped his fingers between the folds of her sex. She was deliciously slick.

“I think you might be enjoying yourself,” he teased as he stroked her with his hand. She moaned and her hips skittered back, chasing his hand, looking for something more. He continued to rub her off with gentle up and down motions that had her dripping into his palm.

Her thighs were shaking by the time he pulled away. He took his cock in hand and stroked once, didn't need much more, before pressing closer and teasing the head between Aziraphale’s legs. He didn't push inside even though every part of his body demanded he slam into the hilt. To fuck her until she screamed. He gripped the fabric of her dress with his left hand and listened to her shuddering breath as he teased her with his cockhead.

"Doing alright, angel?" he asked tightly.

Her response was a series of little gasps. 

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and slid inside. Aziraphale collapsed onto her elbows and moaned as she pressed back into him once, trying to fuck herself on his cock. He gripped her hips to hold her still and waited for the wave of intense heat to pass. Then he began to move. 

Aziraphale laid on the bed for a few moments, moaning and immobile before she started to meet his movements, pushing back into him, clearly trying to pick up the pace.

“This is different,” she said breathlessly as she tried to rise up on her hands.

Crowley would have laughed if he weren’t so completely overwhelmed by sensation. “Do you,” _Ah fuck,_ “like it?”

“Yes, I—” She threw out a hand and braced herself against the headboard. “I think you could...harder.”

He hesitated. Aziraphale was getting better at asking for things in bed, but she’d never— 

“Fuck me harder, Crowley,” she demanded and Crowley froze, mind wiping out at the indecent language coming out of Aziraphale’s mouth.

"What did you just say?"

"I will _not_ say it again," Aziraphale snapped, somehow sounding deeply prim even as she tried to fuck herself on his cock. 

He adjusted his grip, holding on to the bottom of her stays and her right hip and pulled out so just the tip of his cock was still inside and then slammed all the way back in. Aziraphale made a noise he'd never heard her make, a loud sound of pleasure being torn from her as she once more collapsed forward onto her elbows. It changed the angle, but Crowley adjusted and kept up the punishing rhythm, fucking her hard like she asked and she _howled_. He could feel her come around him, the fluttering sensation as her arms cast out on the bed for nothing and she cried out his name again and again. 

He just kept fucking her. With a little moan of overstimulation, she twitched every time he thrust inside.

“Do you still want me to come inside you?” he asked between gasped breaths when he felt his own pleasure start to crest.

She groaned out something that sounded like a yes and he was too close to stop himself. His own orgasm overtook him and he spilled inside Aziraphale for the first time. There was a heady feeling to it. An illogical possessiveness spurred by the fact that it had been off the table for so long. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t ever spilled inside another person before. But he’d never done it with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale hummed happily but didn't get up as Crowley pulled out. He couldn’t resist his own curiosity. He spread her open and watched the mingled shine of her slick and his white spend dribble down her cunt and he felt something hot and terribly familiar stir inside him.

"What're you doing?" Aziraphale slurred, sounding sleepy. Crowley helped her onto her back and when she was finally amongst the pillows, he buried his face in her cunt.

She cried out and nearly kicked him in the chest.

She tasted like sex and it made Crowley’s head spin as he cleaned her with her mouth. She melted against the bed again, moaning until all he could do was spread her legs and fuck her with his tongue.

"Ah," she gasped into the pillow. "Crowley, that’s—"

He spread her as wide as he could with his thumbs and teased her opening, feeling her thighs shudder as he licked her. She moaned and twisted the bedding in her hands as she came again before knocking him away. He sat up and looked at her finally. Her face was red. Half of her curls had come out. 

He climbed up the bed and pressed his fingers between her legs. "Can I kiss you?"

It seemed polite to ask given what his mouth had just been up to.

Aziraphale didn't even respond, already bringing their mouths together in a messy kiss. Her cunt was loose and wet as he fucked her with his hand and her body responded beautifully, hips shaking and chest heaving as their tongues slid together.

Her hands sank into his hair. "I missed you."

"It's only been three days," he said with a laugh. It was right thing to say. Better than any alternative like _I love you and I missed you too. So much._

He withdrew his hand from between her legs and she made a noise of displeasure. But they were both far too clothed by his estimation so he tugged down the bodice of her dress. That seemed to appease her.

"If you ever ask me if I'm enjoying myself in bed with you again I'm gonna throw you out that window over there,” Crowley said as he began to kiss her chest. He drew one of her nipples into his mouth and she hummed in pleasure.

She tugged on his hair a moment later and said, "Defenestrate."

"What?" he asked, pausing the movements of his hand as he sat up, confused.

"It means to throw someone out a window,” Aziraphale explained.

"Why not just say throw someone out a window?"

"People like to sound intelligent, Crowley," Aziraphale said with a huff.

"What? People like you?" he teased.

"Crowley! You wretched—” He pushed a finger inside her and she moaned. “You can’t just _do_ that in order to get me to stop talking,” she said and he pushed another finger inside.

She did, in fact, stop talking.

* * *

"Anathema mentioned a party," Aziraphale said sometime later.

Crowley blinked open his eyes, more than a little sex drunk. They'd been kissing and touching and bringing each other off for the last six hours since Aziraphale had stepped out of the carriage. His body felt wonderfully, perfectly sore and, despite knowing it wasn’t true, he let himself pretend he also felt loved.

"Party?" he asked, letting Aziraphale roll into the crook of his arm and rest her head on his chest. 

"Something about Tracy?" Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley's previous relaxation disappeared. "Tracy is having a party in August, yes. But I wasn't planning on going."

"Why not?" Aziraphale asked, sounding like she might be pouting.

"It's a whole weekend at her country estate," Crowley said. "You wouldn't like it and i'm not going to bugger off for three days without you."

Aziraphale tightened her arm around him. "Who says I wouldn't like it?"

"This isn't like one of Anathema’s parties, angel. This is…"

"Anathema explained it to me," Aziraphale asserted and Crowley made a mental note to have a chat with Anathema about what exactly the woman was telling his wife if she was explaining Tracy’s sex romps to Aziraphale.

"It's not that important," Crowley said, pulling away so he could look her in the eye.

She sat up, gathering the linens around her torso to stay covered. "I don't want you not doing things on my account. If you don't want me to attend, fine, then go on your own but I hate thinking you're holding yourself back because I'm in your life."

She sounded angry and hurt and Crowley gaped at her. 

"Not want you to attend?" Crowley repeated. "I'm saying I don't want to go if you're not there."

Aziraphale softened. "I want to do all these things with you. Will you at least let me try something before deciding I don't like it?"

Crowley hesitated. Aziraphale was being kind, the way that she often was, but she didn’t know. Not really.

“Anathema explained then,” he said.

Aziraphale nodded.

“About the sex.”

She nodded again.

“Did she explain about me?”

Aziraphale cocked her head and Crowley sighed.

“These are parties I like to go and be Miss Ashtoreth at,” Crowley said.

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said. “I expected that.”

“All weekend,” Crowley said flatly. “As Miss Ashtoreth.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said as if Crowley was exceedingly dim.

In disbelief, Crowley said, "I can respond to the invitation. If you really want me to."

"I do really want you to," Aziraphale said with a grin before tackling him back against the pillows just so she could wrap her arms around him and, despite knowing better, Crowley felt very loved indeed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Welcome back! A fun chapter this week imo!
> 
> NSFW arts with some boobies ahead so as always, do not open in front of your boss.
> 
> CW for a moment of internalized transphobia ahead and tipsy sex (fully consensual by both Az and Crow, they've just both been drinking and Az is sort of 'emboldened' by having had a few drinks)

Aziraphale couldn't help how nervous she felt as the carriage began the final leg of the journey to Madame Tracy’s estate. She remembered meeting the woman at Anathema’s party. She had been kind— if unorthodox—and Aziraphale tried to remember that as they drew closer to their three day stay at what she understood to be some sort of modern-day bacchanal. 

Unlike when they took their short trip to the party at Anathema’s, Crowley was still in his breeches for this journey, citing privacy as a concern when Aziraphale asked. They were very nice breeches and if Aziraphale weren't so nervous she'd most certainly be trying to get her hands in them in order to pass the time.

Instead, she stared out the window and thought about what Anathema said about having more partners than just Newt and how Crowley might want that too. She had tried to mention her concerns about their sex life when she returned from visiting Anathema, but she hadn’t expressed herself correctly. Should she bring it up again this weekend? She didn't want to. She liked their life. As nervous as she was for this weekend, she was excited too, excited to experience this new thing with Crowley by her side. 

Maybe it was selfish but discussing anything else would have to wait. She wanted Crowley to herself for a little longer.

She glanced at Crowley across the carriage, and he gave her a questioning look. All her thoughts were probably written clearly across her face. She hefted herself onto the seat beside him and let her head drop onto his shoulder despite the bumpy ride.

"Is there anything I should know before we arrive?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley took her hand in his, delicately tracing shapes onto the back of it.

"Nothing we haven't discussed. Tracy might try to scandalize you, but you spent a weekend with Anathema so I doubt her tactics will work."

Aziraphale laughed and thought about Anathema’s box of dildos and their long conversation about masturbation. A year ago, she would have been mortified at such a thing. Even now, she had to struggle through her blushing, but she _liked_ talking about it. It was interesting.

"If you loathe the entire thing, we can leave early," Crowley reminded her, something he had said multiple times now.

Aziraphale nudged his thigh with her own in protest. "Nonsense. I'm here for the duration. We discussed it."

"You're too stubborn for your own good," Crowley grumbled.

"I don't know. I think my stubbornness is very good," Aziraphale replied with a grin before giving him a kiss on the cheek. She decided. Nerves or no, this would be a good weekend.

* * *

Crowley looked inside her trunk and then back at her wife. Aziraphale seemed happily unaware of the crisis raging inside her as she finished unpacking her own things.

Crowley had been looking forward to getting out of her clothes since they’d mounted the carriage, planning her first outfit for the weekend in her mind as they’d ridden through the countryside. Her breeches had started to feel confining the more she thought about them, but now, staring down into her trunk, she couldn’t help but hesitate.

She hadn’t worn a dress in front of Aziraphale since the change in their relationship. She hadn’t been Miss Ashtoreth. Aziraphale liked _men_ and when Crowley changed, she wasn’t a man. Aziraphale wouldn’t want her like that anymore. Or worse, this would be the moment she said Crowley wasn’t _really_ a woman, so it didn’t matter.

Crowley didn’t want to face either of those things.

Aziraphale hummed quietly as she pulled out her own evening dress. “Is it going to be fancy tonight?” she asked, completely oblivious.

“Save your best dress for tomorrow evening,” Crowley said. “That will be the ball. Tonight is the dinner party with close friends.”

Aziraphale picked up a different dress, a pretty yellow thing Crowley remembered helping her pick out and nodded decisively. “Alright,” she said before turning her attention back to Crowley. “Do you need help changing?”

The red dress slipped out of the trunk with ease, silk sliding over the other fabric with quiet elegance. 

"Perhaps...with my buttons," Crowley said hesitantly. "I've only ever done it myself. I'm sure it's easier with help."

"Certainly," Aziraphale said, coming to her to inspect her choice of dress. "Oh! I haven't seen this one before."

She ran her hand down the black lace on the bodice and turned a pleased smile on Crowley. "It's lovely. Is it new?"

Crowley nodded, struck speechless by the easy way Aziraphale leaned into her, pressing her cheek against her shoulder like a cat nuzzling her owner.

"Come, come," Aziraphale said, standing up straight and turning to face her. "Out of those clothes. You have to change entirely. And I have to do your hair."

She was pushing off Crowley's jacket and before Crowley could even react, she was stripped down to her shirt and breeches. Then Aziraphale's hands started to slow, hesitating along her sides as they came to rest on her waistband. Their eyes met as Aziraphale tugged Crowley's shirt free. Her hands slid under the fabric, warm on Crowley's bare skin. Aziraphale’s gaze dropped to Crowley’s waist.

Crowley caught her wrist. "Angel," she began.

Aziraphale stepped back, shaking her head. "Oh dear, I got a bit carried away. I'm used to undressing you for one reason I'm afraid."

"Angel," Crowley said again, not liking the way her face was falling. "It’s alright. I just don't think we have time. For that."

She pulled Aziraphale closer and kissed her gently, gratified when she melted into her. But, not wanting it to get out of hand, Crowley pulled away quickly.

"Let me get my shift," she said and Aziraphale nodded as she stepped away. 

Despite the distance between them, the fluttering in Crowley's stomach refused to abate but she was getting rather used to that.

* * *

Aziraphale was thoroughly distracted. Madame Tracy's manor was beautiful, large and well-maintained. Aziraphale hadn't expected someone of her profession to have so many assets, but she began to expect that what she had learned throughout her life had been utterly wrong.

But the beauty of the manor, the art, the furniture, the books, was no matter. It was Crowley that kept drawing her attention. Their relationship had been completely platonic at Anathema’s party, the tentative beginning of what would become a close friendship, but now, Aziraphale knew the intimate details of Crowley's body and looking at her in a gorgeous dress, hair done up in ribbons, rouge and powder on her face, made Aziraphale's stomach do all sorts of new and different things.

Crowley was handsome on any given day. Aziraphale had grown accustomed to that. She liked the way he looked in his black waistcoats and his well-cut jackets. Even his unfashionably long hair suited his face, its sharp lines, his freckles and slightly crooked nose. 

As Miss Ashtoreth, Crowley changed her affectation slightly, gentled her rough movements, softened her voice. She was just different enough that Aziraphale was fascinated by her. Sitting across from her at the dining table was driving Aziraphale to distraction. At least if they were seated side by side, Aziraphale could engage her in conversation, but like this she was just forced to _look_. It was a unique sort of torture.

“How are you finding marriage?”

Aziraphale dragged her gaze away from her wife who seemed engaged in conversation with Newt. She turned to Madame Tracy.

“It’s different than I expected,” she admitted, and Tracy smiled. 

“I imagine Miss Ashtoreth has quite a lot to do with that. I wasn’t sure if you would both be attending the party this weekend and I’m glad to see you.”

“I’m glad to be here,” Aziraphale said.

Tracy winked. “Wait to say that until after that party really starts.”

Crowley laughed at something Newt said, drawing Aziraphale’s attention. She put her napkin up to her mouth to hide her smile as her gaze flicked to Aziraphale and then back to Newt. 

“I think I’m quite looking forward to it,” Aziraphale said, stomach warm and head full of thoughts of kissing Crowley.

* * *

"Have you ever played Blind Man's Bluff?" Crowley asked as they stood off to the side of the room and watched Newt bumble around the room with his arms out, blindfold securely on.

"Most definitely not," Aziraphale answered, watching as Crowley let out a low whistle to draw Newt's attention. 

"Ashtoreth?" he asked, and he took a step forward, directly into a table. The room at large giggled and Aziraphale shot Crowley a dirty look.

"Perhaps we move that out of the way," Tracy said and snapped her fingers. A few servants appeared and cleared a larger area for the game.

Crowley had pilfered her shawl at some point, saying she was cold. It didn't suit her dress at all but Aziraphale liked seeing it on her. Crowley wearing _her_ clothes. It was very nice indeed. 

A chorus of claps erupted from the group as Newt captured a young man Aziraphale didn't recognize. Newt's hands roamed over his body and he frowned as he tried to identify the man. Finally, the man kissed him, oddly gentle. It was so intimate that Aziraphale had to fight the urge to look away.

"Oh!" Newt said when they separated. "Thomas!"

Thomas pulled off Newt’s blindfold and laughed. “Took you long enough.”

Newt stammered something Aziraphale couldn’t hear and passed the blindfold on for Thomas to take his place. 

“Do they…” Aziraphale began.

Crowley retrieved a glass of wine from a servant and turned back to her. “Newt and Thomas? I’m not sure. Based on that kiss, I imagine so.”

Aziraphale thought once more about Anathema’s comments about her relationship with Newt, about their multiple partners. She looked up at Crowley and her stomach jumped, a strange combination of nerves and desire mixing inside her. 

“Do you want to play?” Crowley asked, gesturing with her glass out to the general revelry. Thomas was chasing down a young girl Aziraphale didn’t know. His fingers barely grazed the ribbons on her skirt as she dodged away.

“I think I’d rather go upstairs,” Aziraphale said. She didn’t want to feel nervous. She wanted to be alone with Crowley. 

“Oh? Are you tired? I suppose the trip was long. Let me make our excuses.” 

Aziraphale watched Crowley sweep across the room. The feeling from before, the desire to get her hands under Crowley’s dress, to kiss the rouge from her mouth, returned in a wave. She watched Crowley speak to Madame Tracy and felt an unbearable surge of gratitude. How on earth had she ended up here? In a room full of people who didn’t fit into the rigid confines of society and yet found each other? In a marriage with a person who she trusted so utterly? She pressed a hand to her mouth, afraid butterflies might flit straight out of it.

“Miss Ashtoreth said you are retiring for the evening.”

Aziraphale started at the sudden appearance of Tracy with her wife in tow. Crowley looked chagrined. 

“Yes, I—”

“It’s quite understandable that you’d want to get away after the way you’ve been looking at each other all evening,” Tracy said with a wink. “I’m glad she’s finally taking care of your orgasms.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide and she fumbled the empty cup in her hand, just catching it before she dropped it.

“Tracy,” Crowley said, a warning in her tone.

Aziraphale cleared her throat and smiled, unwilling to succumb to embarrassment in this case. She had lived a sheltered life certainly. But she was the sort of person who fucked on tables and let her husband lick his seed from her vagina. She was now the proud owner of a dildo. She was not about to be embarrassed. 

“Oh, she does. You wouldn’t believe the things she can do with her tongue,” Aziraphale said, most likely unsuccessfully fighting her blush. 

Tracy clapped her hands in delight just as Crowley made a choked, wilting noise. 

“You are _wonderful_ ,” Tracy said. “And I certainly won’t keep you from Miss Ashtoreth’s talents. Goodnight, my dears.”

She swept off to speak to other partygoers. Crowley grabbed her hand and dragged her upstairs to their room. As soon as the door was closed, Crowley was apologizing. Aziraphale didn’t give two figs about apologies. 

“Hush,” she said, pushing Crowley back against the wall and knocking the shawl from her shoulders. Crowley made another very silly noise that Aziraphale kissed from her mouth.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” she said as she slid her hands into Crowley’s curls. The kiss had smudged her rouge. Her thin chest was heaving. She looked wrecked. Aziraphale’s heart leapt up into her throat and she wanted— 

She dropped to her knees and dragged up the hem of Crowley’s skirt. “Will you let me?”

She heard Crowley suck in a shuddering breath and when she looked up at her, her eyes were shining. With the flat of her hand, she pinned the excess fabric of her skirt to the wall and gently kissed Crowley’s thighs. 

“All I’ve wanted since we’ve arrived was to touch you and then you put on this beautiful dress as if all you wished to do was drive me mad," she said. She drew Crowley's dress up the final inch and exposed her hard length where it pressed against her stomach. Taking it in her hand, she stroked gently and thumbed the drop of precome from the head. 

Crowley’s head thumped against the door. “Aziraphale,” she said in a wavering voice, hand threading into her hair. 

Savoring the way her whole body sang with the triumph of finally getting what she wanted, Aziraphale carefully took Crowley into her mouth. The hand in her hair tightened minutely before releasing as Crowley let out a long breath. It was easy then to fall into the rhythm she’d learned so well. She loved pleasuring Crowley like this, the way she slowly unraveled, the barely detectable twitch of her hips like she couldn’t help herself. 

Her own body was beginning to ache, a steady thrum between her legs. She could feel herself growing slick like she always did when she did this. Except there was something she wanted that couldn’t name. Her chest ached with it alongside the constant fluttering in her stomach as she pulled off with a heaving breath. 

“I’m close,” Crowley warned, pushing a thumb into her mouth. She sucked on it greedily as she continued to stroke Crowley with her hand.

She desperately wanted... _needed_ something. Words failed her as Crowley drew her own hand away to clutch at hers where it was still fisted in her skirt against the wall. 

“I want you to come on me.”

That had to be it. What she wanted. Something new. To be marked up. Covered in Crowley.

Crowley moaned and Aziraphale felt her muscles lock as she spilled over her hand, the warmth of Crowley’s spend hitting her neck and chest. She fell back on the balls of her feet and reached up to touch the evidence of Crowley’s pleasure, slick on her fingers. Crowley’s skirt rustled to the ground as Crowley dropped to her knees in front of her and Aziraphale found herself being kissed with abandon.

“I didn’t think you’d want me like this,” Crowley confessed, tipping their foreheads together. She was breathing hard and Aziraphale could hardly understand why she was saying something like that.

"Why—wouldn’t I? It’s you."

Crowley’s head dropped to her shoulder and she laughed manically. “Sometimes you say things…”

Aziraphale frowned and tried to piece together what Crowley was alluding to. It was strange to think, after all this time, Crowley still had insecurities.

"You look beautiful as a woman and handsome as a man and I don't see why I can't enjoy sleeping with you either way,” Aziraphale said, clutching at Crowley’s hip with her clean hand. “Do _you_ have a problem with it?”

“No, absolutely not,” Crowley said. “In fact, I think I think I’d like to get you in that bed and show you how little problem I have with it.”

“Could I clean up first?” Aziraphale asked, gesturing to her chest. “It seemed a good idea at the time but…”

Crowley rolled her eyes but helped her up. “No. I’m going to force you to stay covered in my semen for hours.”

Aziraphale kissed her cheek before shuffling off to the water basin. “Your idle threats mean nothing to me.”

Crowley came up behind her and kissed her neck as she began to undo the ties on her dress. “I’ll show you idle threats.”

It was another of those slow moments. Crowley helping her clean up and then pushing her back against the bed, sharing gentle kisses before her hand slipped between Aziraphale’s legs.

"Is this alright?" Crowley asked, burying her face in Aziraphale’s neck.

"It’s wonderful," Aziraphale said.

And it was.

* * *

Crowley watched as Aziraphale did up her curls in strips of cloth to prepare for the next day and tried to decide if her wife’s blonde hair looked more golden by sunlight or candlelight.

"Why are you staring at me?" Aziraphale asked as she finished the final curl.

"I’m relaxing," Crowley said. She tugged the shawl she had snatched from the ground tighter about her shoulders as she rolled onto her back. 

"I know my hair looks silly like this, but I'd like to look my best for tomorrow," Aziraphale said, fiddling with her shift.

Crowley scooted closer and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s arm. "You do look very silly."

Aziraphale scowled. "You’re not supposed to say that."

"What should I say?"

"I don't know but you needn't insult me," Aziraphale said 

"Insult?" Crowley cried dramatically as she sat up. "I would never insult my beautiful wife. She is an angel."

Aziraphale scowled and surged to her feet. "You and your angel nonsense."

Grinning, Crowley crawled to the edge of the bed on her knees and grasped Aziraphale’s wrist to pull her back in bed. To her delight, Aziraphale laughed, breaking through their back and forth game.

"You are a fiend," she said as her knees hit the edge of the bed.

"You like it," Crowley teased, resting her head on Aziraphale’s chest.

Aziraphale’s arms came up around her. "I do."

* * *

Crowley wasn't sure if it was the summer sun, the company, or the orgasm Crowley had wrung out of her with her hand before they joined the party in the garden, but Aziraphale was glowing. She had ended up across the garden talking to Warlock and Adam who seemed happy enough to entertain her while Crowley was drawn into conversation with a pair of women she didn't remember meeting but who apparently remembered her.

"It is wonderful to see you, Miss Ashtoreth," one of them cooed. She wore enough face paint to rival Tracy and Crowley could not remember her name to save her life.

However, she did want to ask where she bought her rouge.

"We thought you might have left our set," the woman's partner said and she looked more familiar. Petite, mousy brown hair. She tucked close to the other woman in a way that made their relationship clear.

With a sudden flash, Crowley remembered having her up against the wall of the library at one of Warlock's soirees over a year ago. Louise had been her name. 

"Just a brief holiday," Crowley said, trying to decide if she should tell Aziraphale someone she had slept with was at the party and simultaneously chastising herself for not realizing this would happen. These were the parties where Crowley found partners and they were often frequented by the same people. 

"I was settling in," she explained. "With my wife."

Louise and her partner exchanged an understanding look. 

"You finally managed to get away then?" Louise asked.

Crowley cleared her throat and glanced over at Aziraphale who was getting another drink and heading in her direction. "My wife is...here actually."

Both women looked confused as Aziraphale trotted to Crowley's side, sipping at her drink as she gave a little wave to the people Crowley was talking to.

"Hello," Aziraphale said. "I just finished speaking with Warlock and wanted to see how you were getting along."

Crowley's mouth opened but words were slow to come.

"Oh!" Aziraphale said, turning to the other woman. "I’m Aziraphale. Mrs. Ashtoreth, I suppose."

Louise and her partner recovered from Aziraphale's sudden intrusion and Crowley discovered the other woman's name was Jay, presumably another name that existed only in these circles. Crowley could respect that. 

Aziraphale, blessed with the ability to put on social airs, managed to hold a conversation while Crowley stood there, dumbstruck. Mrs. Ashtoreth. Aziraphale was standing there, sipping her drink, the summer sun tanning her pretty face pink, talking to someone Crowley had fucked and calling herself Mrs. Ashtoreth.

Crowley needed to sit down.

Seemingly pleased and curiosity sated, Louise and Jay departed for the garden walk and Aziraphale took Crowley's arm to lead her to the tables in the shade.

"You look peaked, my dear," she said. "Do you need refreshment?"

Aziraphale scanned the gathered crowd in the garden and spotted a servant, she flagged him down and put in a request for food Crowley probably wouldn't eat.

She sat down in the chair opposite her with a pleased sigh, smiling as she gazed out over the garden. 

"So how do you know Louise and Jay? They said you were previously acquainted."

A cold dread crept down Crowley's neck. She should be honest with Aziraphale but how would she react. She seemed so happy and Crowley didn't want to ruin that.

"Louise and I…"

Aziraphale eyebrows drew together for a moment before her mouth dropped open in almost comical understanding. "What? You two—when?"

"Before you and I were married," Crowley snapped, defensive. 

"Obviously," Aziraphale said tetchily.

Crowley slumped in her chair, some of her preferred ladylike manners leaving her for a moment as she took the drink handed her by Tracy’s servants. She wasn't very hungry, but a drink sounded like exactly what she needed.

"I didn't want to lie to you about it,'' Crowley said when the servants stepped away.

"It's quite alright," Aziraphale said coolly, already eating from the plate she had summoned for Crowley. "As you say. It was before we were married. You owe me no explanations."

Crowley ground her teeth and took a bit of strawberry from the plate just to be contrary. Aziraphale ate in silence for another minute before she said, "It's just—"

She broke off and fisted her hands in her lap.

"What is it _just_?" 

"That girl was so…" Aziraphale looked off into the gardens and in profile Crowley was once again mesmerized by the unique composition of her face. The turn of her nose, the flutter of her eyelashes, the subtle pink of her mouth.

"She was so small," Aziraphale said quietly. "So young. I didn't think you...preferred that."

Crowley could barely remember what the girl looked like right then and when Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, it was with a wry, self-deprecating curve to her mouth. She waved her hand as if to dispel the topic. "It's no matter. I’m being thoroughly silly. You should eat."

She pushed the picked over plate toward Crowley, and Crowley couldn't stand it, she placed her hand over Aziraphale, stopping her from pulling away. 

"Angel," she began, voice far more serious than she intended. "Almost all my past partners were partners of convenience. I don't _prefer_ small or young or whatever other descriptions you have running around in your head."

Aziraphale's smile visibly relaxed.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Crowley said.

"Who says I was worrying," Aziraphale replied primly, but she didn't take her hand back when Crowley hooked their pinkies together.

Crowley smiled. Jealous. Aziraphale was jealous.

* * *

Aziraphale stepped out onto the terrace and took a deep breath. It was chilly for a summer night, but she needed the air. The ball itself was in full swing and as Crowley had said, there was more than just dancing going on inside. Couples were much freer with their affections than Aziraphale had ever seen in public and just the thought of it made Aziraphale's cheeks heat.

Thus, the fresh air.

Though she was not the only one to have the thought. There were a handful of other attendees milling about outside, chatting and laughing, and even a couple leaning against the rail looking a few seconds away from a passionate embrace.

"Weather’s nice."

Aziraphale started, guiltily turning away so she wouldn't stare. Behind her was a woman dressed in a pair of fitted tan breeches and a fine blue jacket. She was quite tall, and the outfit emphasized her shape and something about the look of it made something tug deep in Aziraphale’s belly. 

Aziraphale laughed and stepped back, hip colliding with the rail. "Yes. It is."

The woman raised an eyebrow—they were lovely eyebrows—like she was mildly entertained by Aziraphale's response. "I haven't seen you at any of Tracy’s parties before. I'm Jane."

The sensation in Aziraphale's stomach was oddly familiar and with a rush of realization, she recognized it as the same one she felt around Crowley. Was she _attracted_ to this woman? What did that mean?

"Oh, I'm Aziraphale," she said politely, and Jane _kissed her knuckles_ which positively filled her stomach with butterflies.

"Aziraphale," Jane said with another grin as she straightened. "That's a pretty name. Unique."

Before Aziraphale could reply, a voice interrupted them.

"Jane, are you bothering my wife?"

Even with its new soft cadence, Aziraphale would recognize Crowley's voice anywhere.

" _Y_ _our_ wife?" Jane asked, eyebrows going up. 

Crowley drew up even with Aziraphale and Aziraphale was once more enchanted by the graceful curve of her chin, the way the delicate red curls framed her sharp jaw. She smiled, predatory and gorgeous and the butterflies in Aziraphale belly were a veritable flock. Whatever attraction she felt for Jane, the woman did not hold a candle to Crowley. No matter how nice her legs looked in breeches.

"How'd someone like Ashtoreth manage to win your heart?" Jane asked her, a teasing glint to her eye. Crowley objected with a grunt and Jane just laughed.

"It was arranged actually," Aziraphale answered honestly but she tucked herself closer to Crowley. 

"Ah," Jane said, a smirk tugging at her shapely mouth and goodness she was an attractive thing. "I was going to say, for all the talk for Ashtoreth’s seductive prowess you certainly are out of her league."

"Jane," Crowley said warningly.

"What's a few barbs between old friends?" Jane said.

Aziraphale looked between them, understanding dawning. "Oh, are you two _old friends_?"

Jane tossed her head back and laughed so loud a few people looked over. "Please, I prefer my women less bony," she said. Then she grinned. "And blonde."

Aziraphale blushed fiercely.

"Have a good evening, Aziraphale," Jane said with a small bow. She smiled at Crowley. "Ashtoreth."

With that, she swanned back inside and Aziraphale couldn't help enjoying the view of her pert arse as she walked away. Well. That was new information. She was certain she was attracted to Crowley when he was a man. And Crowley as a woman. But maybe it wasn't just Crowley. Maybe it was women in general. Crowley said she was attracted to both men and women. Maybe Aziraphale was too. Aziraphale's head was starting to hurt thinking about it. It was one thing to shake off the misconceptions she’d grown up with when it came to Crowley. Trying to accept that these things could apply to her as well was a little much for the moment.

She turned to Crowley who was scowling after Jane.

"Did you need something, my dear?"

Crowley glanced down at her. "Ah, yes. They're starting dancing and I wanted to let you know. Since you're so _fond_ of it."

"No need to be rude," Aziraphale replied as they walked back inside. She was happy they were teasing instead of discussing whatever had happened with Jane. She preferred such exchanges.

In the end, she did dance with Crowley once but Crowley begged off any further ones, citing ruined toes. Anathema danced with her as well and laughed every time Aziraphale did something wrong.

Drinks flowed freely and Aziraphale began to see exactly what Crowley meant when she said this party was a bit different than Anathema’s. There weren’t just games and flirtations and laughter. People were _kissing_ and _touching_ and going into barely shadowed corners to fondle each other over their clothes and sometimes even under them.

Aziraphale ended up on a couch with Crowley in their own shadowy alcove of the ballroom, feeling rather tipsy as they watched the revelers at large. There were only a handful of people still on the dancefloor, if what they were doing could be called dancing. There was a man she didn't recognize kissing someone beside the window across the room from them. They looked to be enjoying themselves. Jane seemed to have found a partner in a young blonde woman with an ample bosom. Aziraphale knew it was ample because it was currently exposed, and Jane was lazily playing with one of the young woman’s nipples. The sight aroused Aziraphale as much as it made her uncomfortable. What if Crowley was touching her like that? Here of all places. In front of everyone. A thrill ran through her, slightly numbed by drink but still palpable and full of heat. Had Crowley engaged in such behavior at other parties? Aziraphale hardly cared. She felt that same hunger to get her hands on Crowley that sometimes overwhelmed her, starting in the pit of her stomach and climbing through her chest, thumping in time to the beat of her heart.

Aziraphale finished her drink and scooted closer to Crowley, pleased when she put her arm around her so Aziraphale could tip her head on her shoulder. Crowley smelled subtly of the powder she used. Jasmine. Aziraphale tucked her nose into Crowley’s neck and kissed her pulse. 

Crowley shivered. "Angel, what are you doing?"

"You like these parties, don’t you?" she asked, laying her hand on Crowley’s thigh and dragging her fingers along the delicate fabric. She heard Crowley’s breath hitch. "For meeting people. For sex."

She readjusted, feeling bold and aroused and _wanting_. Sitting up, she moved to swing her leg over Crowley's, settling herself in her wife's lap. Crowley’s hands immediately went to her hips to steady her, fingers spread wide. They were warm and the touch only made Aziraphale want more.

"We're in public," Crowley protested but she didn’t push Aziraphale away. 

"I think that's rather the point," Aziraphale said, moving her hips slowly, feeling Crowley grow hard beneath her. They’d had sex in this position before in the drawing room back home, but it wasn’t a common position for them. Aziraphale wondered why. She liked it very much. "It’s a dark corner, Crowley. Look at Jane over there, playing with her partner’s chest. Do that to me."

"Fuck,” Crowley groaned, hips rocking up into her and providing the slightest amount of friction. Enough to make her gasp and bear down. 

She covered Crowley’s hands where they were still gripping her hips and brought them to her chest. "Can you touch me like this, Crowley?"

Crowley made a noise deep in her chest, eyes dropping to Aziraphale's bosom. She gently kneaded her breasts but separated by the cups of her stays and the silk of her bodice, Aziraphale could hardly feel it, just the subtle scrape of fabric over the tightening skin of her nipples. But she wanted Crowley’s hands on her. She always wanted Crowley’s hands.

And then Crowley tugged away her bodice and pulled down the fabric covering her right breast. She felt the sudden thrill of exposure cutting through intoxication even as her newly naked skin was covered by Crowley’s hand. Her nipples had always been somewhat sensitive, but here in the wide ballroom, with the knowledge that anyone could be watching, the gentle friction of Crowley’s palm on her breast was enough to make her moan.

Crowley drew her fingers down her exposed skin, letting the tips of them linger on Aziraphale’s hardening nipple before taking the nub between her thumb and forefinger and giving it a gentle tug. Aziraphale gasped and fell forward, clutching at the back of the sofa. Crowley ducked her head and nipped at the side of her breast, a bite that was more the suggestion of teeth, as she continued to roll Aziraphale’s nipple between her clever fingers,

"You’re so soft here," Crowley said, tongue darting out to lick Aziraphale’s sternum and then drawing across her breast with little kitten licks. She withdrew her hand and smirked as she glanced up at Aziraphale’s face, pausing momentarily before licking her nipple too. The wet heat was quickly cooled by the air and Aziraphale squirmed, fingers flexing on the couch. Every touch sent shocks of pleasure between her legs. She felt as if her stomach were melting into a core of pure gold, liquid and burning. She was dripping onto her thighs and gasping when Crowley finally drew her nipple into her mouth and gently sucked. The pressure was exquisite. It shouldn’t have felt so good, like being stroked between her legs with the lightest touch. She whimpered.

Crowley flicked her tongue over the tip of her breast and then bit her way up Aziraphale’s chest, pressing sucking kisses into Aziraphale collarbone that felt positively sinful as she brought her hand back to her chest.

Crowley kissed her neck and she moaned, breathless, "Don't stop darling. This feels wonderful."

Crowley made a sharp noise against her throat and nipped at her pulse, but she didn't stop. She scraped her teeth over Aziraphale’s bare shoulder and rolled her hard nipple between delicate fingers before taking it back into her mouth and sucking gently until Aziraphale had her fill. Aziraphale's belly clenched and she rocked her hips, chasing the sensation between her legs. She felt Crowley's hardness against her as she moved and wasn't that a delight?

Her peak wasn't as intense as those she had shared with Crowley before. It came slow and fluttering between her legs and rushed over her like warm water. She gasped and collapsed against Crowley's chest, knowing she was crushing her slightly but not caring as her muscles relaxed.

Then reality started to settle, and she remembered they were very much still in public.

* * *

Aziraphale had just gotten off with Crowley's mouth on her tits. She was still curled up in Crowley’s lap, breath warm on Crowley's neck, bosom soft against Crowley's chest. 

Crowley couldn't believe Aziraphale had offered to do _anything_ out here, let alone _that_. Not that she was complaining. 

Aziraphale sat back and Crowley saw the stain of her rouge all over her nipple. Her cock twitched at the sight. 

"Oh, dear," Aziraphale said, tucking herself away as she tried to get out of Crowley's lap. 

"What’s going on?" Crowley asked, hands going to Aziraphale's waist to steady her as she fumbled back onto the couch. Her cheeks were gorgeously flushed from her orgasm and there were love bites on her neck. Crowley wanted to get her naked. Badly. Just not here.

"I shouldn't have done that, should I?" Aziraphale said.

"Pretty sure everyone’s doing it," Crowley said, pointing out at the room where more couples and various other configurations had taken to various states of undress. 

"Even more sure it might have been the best thing that's ever happened to me at one of these parties," Crowley said, scooting closer. She heard an echo of Aziraphale’s breathless voice say _darling_ in her ear

"Really?" Aziraphale asked, looking relieved. “I...it was rather invigorating.”

Crowley snorted. 

“What?” Aziraphale demanded. “Why are you laughing?”

“Let’s go to bed. I can _invigorate_ you a bit better in private.”

Aziraphale spluttered but let her drag her off the couch and upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left (and an epilogue!)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POSTING EARLY LIKE A RENEGADE
> 
> shout-out to val for being a total rock star this week and helping out with the plotting of this chapter and rewriting some of it with me here at the end <3
> 
> the final proper chapter!!!! next week is just bonus smutty epilogue for fun
> 
> CWs injury, depression

Against Crowley’s good judgment, as summer turned to autumn, he grew happy. Aziraphale was a constant presence in his life. They shared a bed, woke up together most days, and Crowley even took to doing some of his work in the library where the light was better and where he could ask for Aziraphale’s opinion on certain business matters. They walked the grounds when the weather allowed it. Aziraphale even convinced him to join her in the kitchen during one of her attempts at a cake, but he teased her too much and ended up summarily banned for the evening.

It was simply that, when he didn’t pay too much attention to it, his life was exactly as it ought to be. He was married to someone who understood him, who supported him, who made him laugh, who questioned him when he needed to be questioned. Someone he _loved_. And his sex life was better than it had ever been. Whatever thoughts he’d had about one day needing to speak to his wife about fulfilling his needs elsewhere had long gone out the window. Aziraphale was what he needed.

So Crowley was trying to look at the situation practically. Yes, he loved his wife more than anything. He was terribly soft over her and it was pathetic. She didn’t know because, smart as she was, Crowley had discovered that she could be wonderfully stupid. She also didn’t love him back. Not in that sweeping, heart-pounding, life-altering way.

She liked to call him her _best friend_ and say how grateful she was that they were so close, how she had never had anyone in her life she could trust the way she trusted Crowley. 

But Crowley tried to be practical. And optimistic. Perhaps he couldn’t brush his wife’s hair and whisper sweet words and say how much he loved her without crushing his beautiful, happy life, but sometimes she said things like “I love when you hold me” and called him darling and it was almost as good.

Almost.

They were married, Crowley reasoned, and they were sleeping together. Neither of them were going anywhere and they were happy. Perhaps Aziraphale would develop feelings for him just due to proximity and repetition ( _She hasn’t yet_ , a very mean voice liked to say to him whenever he had this argument with himself). 

They were getting ready for bed the evening after a party at Anathema’s. Aziraphale had started attending more parties with Crowley. Some mundane and some more raucous. None had gone quite as far as Tracy’s. Crowley didn’t know how he felt about that, but he had that memory tucked into the corner of his heart.

“I’ve been thinking,” Aziraphale said as she pulled her half stays over her head. Her breasts spilled free, soft under her shift, temporarily drawing Crowley’s attention. He shook himself. Aziraphale was talking to him. He should focus.

“About?” he asked, turning away to take off his trousers. The candle was burning low on the nightstand. He’d need to bring in a replacement soon so Aziraphale could read before bed.

“Ever since Tracy’s I’ve been thinking about what I like in bed,” Aziraphale said, dropping onto the edge of the bed and pulling her hair into a loose braid. “Obviously you, but last night I think I confirmed it. Did you meet Lady Leighton?”

Crowley frowned, not sure what Aziraphale was trying to say, torn between her compliment and the confusing direction of her speech. “I know of her.”

“She was very handsome,” Aziraphale said. “I think I was attracted to her.”

Crowley’s stomach bottomed out as Aziraphale twisted in her seat to look at him. 

“I knew I was attracted to you when you’re a man and when you’re a woman but then there was Jane who, well, you met her at Tracy’s and then yesterday Lady Leighton. That’s enough evidence, don’t you think? And you like both men and women so I was wondering what you thought about that?”

Crowley’s thoughts spun between images of Aziraphale kissing Jane and then Lady Leighton. _I was attracted to her_.

Crowley shrugged and splashed water on his face at the basin, trying to waste a few more seconds before he had to face her. 

“I’d never even thought of it if I hadn’t met you,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully and Crowley _hurt_. His own thoughts struggled to surface through the icy feeling in his gut. 

Aziraphale had not been afforded the same opportunities Crowley had. She had been raised stuck beneath the thumb of her strict brother and family, probably fed the same narrative over and over. She would marry a man and bear him children. They probably didn’t discuss sex at all. Women didn’t have desires, not for men, and certainly not for women. 

Maybe Crowley had been selfish long enough. If Aziraphale wanted these other women, or was just trying to figure out her tastes, why should Crowley stop her? He would always be here. Her husband. Her wife. 

“I don’t know when we’ll run into her next, but she’s not attached last I heard,” he said coolly. “If you want to pursue her, I don’t see why you couldn’t.”

“What?” Aziraphale asked shrilly, surging to her feet. “That’s not—”

“She is a handsome woman, as you say,” Crowley said, deflecting and wishing he hadn’t taken off his trousers yet. “I can see why she’d be the reason you thought you might be interested in women.”

Aziraphale’s nostrils flared and for an absurd moment Crowley thought she might stomp her foot. “ _You’re the reason I thought I might be interested in women_ ,” she said in a low voice. “Is this your way of telling me you want to pursue other people? You don’t have to be so underhanded. Anathema told me that was what you wanted eventually.”

“Anathema?” Crowley asked and then scoffed. “I don’t want to be with anyone but you and I don’t know where she got that idea.”

“Because you told her!” 

“Maybe before we were married. I thought I’d hate you. That you’d be some conservative harpy whose knees were shut so tight I’d never have sex again.”

Aziraphale gasped, scandalized and Crowley rolled his eyes. “You’re obviously not like that at all.”

“Is sex _really_ that important to you?” Aziraphale asked. “You were willing to find it elsewhere?”

“Yes!” Crowley snapped and then deflated. “And no. I wasn’t willing to do it without my wife’s knowledge. Your knowledge. But I didn’t want to be celibate.”

Aziraphale made a noise of disgust.

"So what? I enjoy sex. You do too," Crowley said. "Don't pretend otherwise. If I recall, I had my fingers inside you not an hour ago and you were begging me to fuck you."

"Crowley!"

"Well?" Crowley asked expectantly. "Wouldn't you miss it if it were gone?"

Aziraphale wiggled her shoulders petulantly. "I can always take care of it myself."

"It’s not the same and you know it."

"Fine, yes. I like sex, is that what you want me to say?"

"I know!" Crowley practically shouted, frustrated that they were sniping at each other when he wanted the conversation to end. "And that’s fine. That’s good. And I’m not going to stop you from trying to find out what you like even if it means having sex with other people."

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open and she stepped back.

"Why would I want to have sex with other people?"

"Because you’ve only ever had sex with me."

Aziraphale’s expression grew stormy. "So you’re allowed to decide that you don't want to sleep with anyone else and that _I must_ want to."

"I don't want you holding yourself to me because you have to," Crowley bit out. "You've done enough in your life because you felt you had to."

"Do you _want_ me to have sex with other people?"

Crowley slapped his hand on the bedpost. "No! I’d rather pluck out my fucking eyeballs. But I don’t _own_ you."

"Tell me, Crowley, if we were no longer sleeping together would _you_ suddenly grow bored and need to find satisfaction elsewhere?"

Taken aback by the sudden question, Crowley hesitated as he tried to rein in his temper.

Aziraphale misread the hesitation for something else entirely.

Aziraphale stared at him, expression going hard. "Get out of my bedroom, Crowley."

Crowley started. He hadn't slept in his own room in months.

"Azira—"

"We'll talk about it in the morning," she said, turning away. "I'm far too frustrated to discuss this at the moment and I'm about five seconds from throwing a book at your head so you need to leave."

Crowley hesitated. "I'm leaving for London in the morning. Remember?"

Aziraphale rolled her eyes and crawled under the covers. "Fine. Yes. Then we will talk when you return."

"Right," Crowley said hesitantly.

"Please try not to fuck anything while youre there," Aziraphale said coolly before she rolled over and blew out the candle.

Crowley shut the door that led to his bedroom and sighed. 

* * *

Aziraphale had no idea why she was so cross. She stayed in her room late the following morning so she wouldn’t have to see Crowley when he left for London. Instead she festered in her room, thinking over their exchange the night before and hating the way it made her stomach turn.

All she had wanted was to share her thoughts with Crowley. Express this new discovery about herself. They did that all the time! Crowley had to go and tell her to have sex with other people.

She rolled onto her side in bed and clutched her pillow as the pain in her chest twisted sharply. He’d seemed so cavalier about it too. Go ahead, have your fill. Fuck who you like. Aziraphale didn’t want to have sex with other people. That wasn’t the point. She wanted to talk to Crowley about being attracted to men and women and _understand_ herself more because talking to Crowley always helped.

And implying Aziraphale slept with Crowley because she _had_ to. The gall! As if Aziraphale weren’t interested in Crowley entirely on his own merit because he treated her with kindness, wanted her to be happy. Not even to begin to speak of her very real attraction to him. She wanted to sleep with Crowley because she loved him, not out of duty.

“Oh.”

Aziraphale rolled onto her back, bringing her pillow with her. She stared at the ceiling.

Crowley was her best friend. She had often said as much. She had never had anyone in her life that she trusted as much as she trusted Crowley, anyone she wanted to discuss the minutiae of her days with, anyone she wanted to make laugh, to make smile, to simply see in the mornings or in the evenings. She had thought of that as friendship, as intimacy, because that had made sense to her. Romantic love had never even crossed her mind as a possibility. 

That suddenly seemed very very silly

Everything she had ever read on the subject came rushing back to her and cast her own feelings into sharp relief. Her jealousy, her desire, and ultimately her love.

Her arms tightened about the pillow. Did Crowley feel the same way?

A laugh tore from her throat. Ridiculous. Of course he did. Just replaying the conversation from the night before made it obvious. _I don’t want anyone but you_ and _I’d rather pluck out my own eyeballs_. Goodness, her husband was dramatic. She smiled and it was desperately manic but she was in love!

She recalled all those gentle times Crowley had touched her in this very bed, brushing her hair back from her face and kissing her cheeks. She had felt odd then, overwhelmed, like she might burst from her emotions. That had been love, hadn’t it? They had been making love. 

Of course they had. Crowley probably knew all along that their relationship had shifted towards the romantic. Finally, Aziraphale had caught up.

She couldn’t wait for Crowley to get home. They had a lot to talk about.

* * *

Crowley desperately wanted to talk to Aziraphale. He’d put his foot in it again. He seemed awfully good at that. She’d dismissed him and he had probably deserved it. What had he been thinking? Practically encouraging her to have sex with other people.

His mind was hardly on his shipping logs as he got through his meetings, signed what he needed to sign and hurried to get back on the road. The sky was gray and menacing and Aziraphale would have probably said to stay in London overnight and not risk getting caught in a storm, but it was just Crowley and his horse and he was fairly certain he could get home before the weather turned.

Snow started to fall an hour out from home and it was truly coming down fifteen minutes later. He could feel the horse growing jittery and nervous with the lack of visibility so he cut through the farmland he knew well. It would shave nearly thirty minutes off the journey.

He didn’t account for the sucking mud and when a tree limb cracked in the distance, his horse reared, bucking awfully and that was how he fell.

* * *

Aziraphale had hoped Crowley would come home that evening so they could talk but when the weather turned foul, she began to pray for the exact opposite. Sometimes Crowley could be woefully stubborn and she wasn’t looking forward to receiving a freezing Crowley so she tucked herself into the drawing room with a book and kept the fire going, staying up far too late just in case he did come home. But when the clock chimed eleven and he still wasn’t home, Aziraphale decided he must have stayed in London overnight. She was only slightly disappointed as she took herself to bed. It was probably for the best. The snow really was coming down, sticking against the windows with the force of the wind.

It only felt like moments after she had settled in bed that she was roused by a dreadful shouting downstairs. 

“Mrs. Crowley!” someone cried. It was a familiar voice but she couldn’t quite place it. She threw on her dressing gown and hurried from her room in time to see the village physician and a farmer carrying _Crowley_ upstairs. 

Aziraphale gasped. “What happened?”

The farmer answered. “He fell from his horse. Found him in my field.”

That explained the mud streaked on his face and hair and clothes. Aziraphale’s stomach twisted. His arm was bent at a terrible angle. 

“What can I— what can I do?” she asked, feeling faint as she realized that there wasn’t only mud on Crowley’s cheeks but blood.

“Fetch water,” the physician said. “And rags.”

Aziraphale hurried downstairs and did as she was told. 

It felt like hours that she waited in her room before the physician called her in. Crowley’s clothes had been cut off him, left in a pile on the floor, and he was tucked in bed, face mostly cleaned, a mean-looking laceration on his forehead. They had carried him up into his bed, resting him against pillows and tucking him in against the cold. He looked too small and fragile there.

With a serious expression, the physician sat her down and explained he’d given Crowley a dose of laudanum for what was most likely going to be several days of severe pain. 

“His left arm was broken in the fall,” he said quietly, pointing at his own forearm. “And his hips and ribs are bruised. I wouldn’t be surprised if one was broken. He shouldn’t walk by himself for a few days and should rest in bed as much as possible for the next six weeks. He may have headaches but there will be no lasting damage if he can rest and heal.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath, torn between relief and sympathy. Crowley was alright, but he was suffering. She cast a look at him on the bed. Poor Crowley.

The physician walked her through administering laudanum and changing Crowley’s bandages. His chest was covered in scrapes and the beginnings of purpling bruises that made Aziraphale’s heart hurt for him.

“I’d also advise you don’t,” the physician cleared his throat, “share a bed while he recovers. He needs rest and any movement at night may jostle him unnecessarily. I see you have separate bedrooms. I’d suggest you use them.”

Aziraphale nodded and pushed away her disappointment. Crowley’s health was more important than her potential loneliness. She loved him and she would take care of him. Of course she would.

* * *

The first thing that registered when Crowley woke was the awful taste in his mouth. Then the splitting headache, then the pain everywhere else. It radiated from his hips and chest and up his arm, pulsing at the base of his neck. He peeled open his eyes and saw he was in his bedroom, but it was dark, the first rays of dawn creeping through the windows. 

Aziraphale was asleep in a chair in the corner.

He tried to speak and coughed, pain shooting out from his ribs, enough to make him grunt. Aziraphale snapped away.

“Crowley?” she asked, scrambling to her feet and rushing to his side. “You’re awake! Oh, you’re awake. You need to drink something.”

And then her soft hands were cradling his head and tipping a cup to his mouth and helping him drink slowly. He lifted his own hand to take the cup and realized his left arm was strapped to his chest so he had to use his right. He was terrible with his right hand and moving it made his chest hurt too.

“What happened?” he croaked, when Aziraphale had him laid back against the pillows. 

“You fell from your horse and broke your arm,” Aziraphale said not unkindly as she took a seat on the edge of the bed beside him. 

“Bit more than a broken arm,” he grunted and she nodded.

“The doctor said bruised hips and ribs and a knock to the head,” she added. “You’re under strict orders for bed rest but he said you’ll be good as new in six weeks or so.”

Crowley groaned. Bed rest. No, thank you. He tugged on the blankets and tried to move to the edge of the bed, legs protesting as pain shot like lightning down from his hips to his toes, and up his spine. 

“I just said bed rest. What are you doing?” Aziraphale demanded, getting to her feet and coming around the bed to stop him from getting up.

“I have to piss, Aziraphale,” Crowley said through gritted teeth. “And my legs work. It’s fine.”

“I’m helping you,” Aziraphale said stubbornly, already going to retrieve the chamber pot. 

“I’m not going to— Aziraphale, I’m not going to do this in front of you,” he said as he clutched the bed post with his left hand to keep his balance. He was dizzy. His teeth hurt. The slightest pressure and his legs tried to give out under him. 

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “I’ve had your cock in my mouth and my fingers up your arse. I don’t see why you...urinating in front of me is the end of the world. I can hold up the pot and you can...do your business.”

Crowley groaned, shame and embarrassment flooding him. He was an invalid now. And Aziraphale was playing nursemaid. Dead set on it apparently. 

After this there was no possible way Aziraphale would want him in any way. He was going to be infantilized and probably disgusting in her eyes. 

He grit his teeth and nodded, clutching tighter at the bedpost. 

They figured it out after a few embarrassing tries and Crowley didn’t even want to contemplate the water closet and what that would involve.

Aziraphale put him back to bed and gently kissed his temple, surprising him. “The doctor said you should sleep as much as possible these first few days. Let me get the tonic.”

So Crowley took his medicine and went to sleep.

He spent the first several days of his recuperation sleeping. When he was awake, everything was filtered through the haze of the laudanum and the heavy drag of pain. However, no matter when awoke, Aziraphale was there. She had somehow managed to get a sofa into the room. Perhaps she’d asked some of the servants who came by on occasion. Crowley struggled to think critically about it.

He often woke to find her asleep on it, or to her doing correspondence. When asked, she explained she was writing letters to Crowley’s business associates about the latest shipment of olives which needed their attention. She hadn’t wanted to bother Crowley about it, she said. He needed rest, she said. She was perfectly capable on her own, she said.

He felt rather miserable about that as he went back to sleep.

* * *

Aziraphale learned quickly that Crowley was a _terrible_ patient. He kept trying to do things himself, sneaking out of bed and trying to go to the kitchen or even worse he once tried to heat himself a bath and Aziraphale found him sitting in the corridor with tears streaming down his face, struggling to breathe through the pain.

She had been quite cross as she helped him up and tried to help him towards the stairs, but he held firm.

“Aziraphale, I stink,” he said, clutching at the wall. “I can’t reach everywhere I need to when I wash. I need to bathe.”

“Fine. I can bathe you. I won’t come down to find you’ve drowned yourself trying to be stubborn,” Aziraphale said, hands on her hips. 

He groaned at her, something about being pathetic and not needing a nursemaid and she refused to dignify him with a response. 

She helped him into the drawing room where he could lie down while she heated the water and prepared the bath for him. She’d never done it before, but Crowley had taught her to light the fire and it was easy enough to put the rest together. Returning upstairs, she found Crowley’s dressing gown and a clean sleep shirt.

Once she’d helped him into the bath room, it was the struggle of getting him undressed. She carefully removed the sling from his arm and helped him get the shirt over his head. He let out little hisses and grunts of pain that made her heart hurt. Then he was nude and her response changed entirely.

She hadn’t seen him shirtless since the accident. Had it been a week? Ten days. That wasn’t that long and yet she missed the sight of his skin, the way his russet chest hair gleamed. The expansive sickly green and yellow bruises along his sides and back made her wince.

“This looks awful,” she said, touching his skin gently.

He frowned and flinched away. His modesty was something she didn’t understand. Not to be put too fine a point on it but she missed the closeness they shared when they had sex, when Crowley was inside her. She also fiercely missed sucking Crowley’s cock. She hadn’t realized how often they’d been having sex until they abruptly stopped. 

Her words to Crowley before his accident were certainly coming back to bite her. She did indeed miss sex now that she wasn’t having it. Though she doubted she would enjoy it if it weren’t with Crowley.

Getting Crowley into the bath was a trial. The scrapes on his chest had healed over the last ten days but he swore the entire time Aziraphale helped him lever himself down into a seated position. He was forced to hold his splinted arm over the edge of the tub.

Once he was in the water, she brushed his hair back from his face and he scowled. 

“If you insist on playing nurse, get on with,” he sneered. Aziraphale frowned at him.

“I don’t see why you take such issue with me taking care of you,” she said.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Crowley snapped, closing his eyes.

She sighed and retrieved a washcloth. “Where can’t you wash?” she asked, trying to be perfunctory and hoping a more business like approach would help Crowley manage whatever was bothering him.

“My back,” Crowley said sullenly. “And my arms. And hair.”

Aziraphale hummed as neutrally as she was able. “Let’s start with your arms since I won’t have to move you much to wash those and you can rest a bit after all that walking you did. Which _you shouldn’t do again_.”

“Yes, alright,” Crowley said tetchily.

Aziraphale rubbed some of her lemon soap into the cloth and smoothed it down Crowley’s left bicep, avoiding the splint on his forearm. He had such lovely arms. Lean and freckled. “Have you been sleeping alright?”

“Like the dead. Thanks to the medicine.” His eyes drifted shut as Aziraphale rubbed the soap over his skin, following it up with clear water. It was nice to simply touch him after days of being unable to. She had badly wanted to hold him and comfort him in the ways he had comforted her before, taking him in her arms. She couldn’t fathom how long it had taken her to realize what they had was love when Crowley would hold her like that.

She finished washing his right arm and moved it out of the way so she could wash his side. There she was even more gentle, worried about his ribs and the bruises that she could see stretching over his chest and abdomen.

“I suppose you’ve learned your lesson about riding home in the snow,” she said weakly when Crowley hissed in discomfort for the third time.

He shot her a dirty look. “I suppose I have.”

Not wanting to agitate him when he was clearly already frustrated, she washed his chest and tried not to linger even if being close to him stirred feelings deep in her belly. What she wouldn’t give to curl up with him in bed, fire lit, his cold toes tucked under her feet.

A few more weeks.

She washed his other arm and under it, sitting him up and scrubbing his back. She murmured soothing words when he grunted in pain at having to sit up. 

It was when she reached into the water to wash his legs and feet - he couldn’t bend to reach them - that she noticed the response he was having to her touch. Her stomach fluttered and she tried to focus on her work.

"Sorry," Crowley said when he noticed the direction of her gaze. "Your hands on me…"

Aziraphale glanced below his belly and licked her lips. Would it really be so bad? If Crowley didn’t move? 

Carefully, she began to wash his upper thighs and hips.

"It’s quite alright," she said, looking Crowley in the eye as she swiped the cloth closer to his groin. 

Crowley’s cheeks were flushed as she washed his hips and then his penis and his testicles. He grew fully hard under her touch, biting his lip and closing his eyes. She didn’t even tease. He had asked to be cleaned so of course she would clean him.

After a final swipe of cloth over his belly, Aziraphale gave up pretense and took Crowley’s length into her hand to stroke him.

Crowley let out a long moan. "What are you doing?" he gasped.

"I think you know exactly what I’m doing," Aziraphale replied, gently moving her hand under the water. 

For a few moments, it was wonderful. It was like their relationship had been and then Crowley gasped and arched into her touch and everything fell apart.

He clutched at the edge of the bathtub in pain, kicking in the water and swearing. Aziraphale yanked her hand back as if burned. “Crowley, oh, I’m—”

She surged to her feet to retrieve a towel. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was an awful idea.”

Crowley tried to reach out to grab her but he used his bad arm out of habit. He let out a horrible, choked noise of pain and Aziraphale pulled away. “Crowley, don’t do that. Don’t touch me.”

Feeling guilty and miserable, Aziraphale helped Crowley out of the bath and into new clothes. When she put him to bed, she had to give him extra medicine just so he could sleep.

* * *

Crowley sat on the sofa in the drawing room and stared out the window. It was snowing. It had been for some time. Aziraphale was in the library. Perhaps reading. Perhaps working to keep up with the things Crowley should have been doing. 

What a useless wretch he was. He couldn’t be in the greenhouse like he normally would in this weather. He’d had nice plans for winter too. Primrose and snapdragons. He’d thought Aziraphale would like those. 

He wasn’t doing anything for her. He wasn’t working and going to town to bring her back books or chocolate. He couldn’t grow her flowers or vegetables for cooking. He couldn’t even fuck her because he’d gone and injured himself. How soon before she’d grow bored? Before she’d realize Crowley was a miserable, angry bastard who only knew how to feel sorry for himself?

“Crowley?”

Crowley sighed and turned to look at the door to the drawing room as Aziraphale peeked inside. 

“I made tea,” she said.

 _Don’t touch me_ , she had said that day when she had helped him bathe. She hadn’t meant it that way and yet it still echoed in his head. One day perhaps she would mean it that way.

He hated how often he simultaneously felt ashamed and cared for, how his heart swelled even as his stomach grew cold. He tried to remind himself it was a temporary situation. He was only useless to her for six weeks. According to the doctor, two now, and perhaps a little more of getting used to his weakened limbs again. He could be of service to her soon. 

Except would he really? How long would it be before they could have their life back? He flexed his fingers in his splint, felt the pull in his injury and winced. What if he didn't fully recover the use of his left hand? Aziraphale loved his hands and he wasn't nearly as good with his right hand— 

He was being maudlin, wasn't he?

“Come in,” he said with a sigh. It wasn’t his place to cut Aziraphale off from the drawing room just because he didn’t want to stay entirely cooped up in his room. 

She made a happy little noise and trotted inside, placing the tea tray on the table beside him. Then she looked at him.

“Crowley, what on earth is wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, looking back out the windows. The sun was setting and the world was going gray. Fitting really.

“You’re a miserable liar,” she said as she took a seat on the edge of the sofa. 

“Anathema is having a Christmas party,” he said.

“Yes, and we aren’t attending.”

“You should go,” Crowley said, closing his eyes and resting his head on the back of the couch.

“Why would I go? That doesn’t sound like any fun at all.”

“Meet people,” Crowley offered. He didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t feel like talking at all.

Aziraphale made a warning noise deep in her throat. “Crowley, is this more of your ‘sleep with other people’ nonsense? Because I swear if you bring that up to me while you are in this condition I will…”

“You’ll what?” Crowley asked, eyes flashing open.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said with a huff. “But you’ll regret it.”

"There has to be something I can do for you," he said. "My...I know most of me is useless but…"

Aziraphale frowned. "Oh hush. Useless? What is going on in that head of yours?"

"Let me make you feel good," Crowley said, using his right hand to skate over her hip. She leaned into his touch and then abruptly pulled away.

"Crowley! None of that. You’re to rest." 

Crowley slapped his hand against the back of the couch and groaned. "All I've been doing is resting. Why can't I—"

"I don’t want you hurting yourself on my account," Aziraphale said. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

“I know that!” Crowley shouted. “But what am I supposed to do? I can’t do any of the normal things I do to make you happy. I haven't gotten you chocolate or touched you or— Let me do something to please you. You can use my mouth or—or—” 

Aziraphale gripped his good hand and her expression turned soft as she spoke.

“I am not just here for sex or parties or whether or not you remember to buy me something when you go to town,” Aziraphale said. “I _like_ being here with you. I like your companionship. You've only been recovering for six weeks but even if it were a six months or even the rest of our lives, I would still want to be right here with you because it is you, Crowley. I want to be with you. Whatever that looks like.”

She stood and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and drink your tea.”

* * *

That night Crowley felt more settled than he had in weeks. It was still frustrating to have Aziraphale hovering as he made his way upstairs and to struggle through changing for bed. He still ached deep in his bones, but he no longer felt as if he were suffocating.

Aziraphale flitted about his room, closing the curtains and refilling the water basin. She fluffed his pillows and generally made a fuss before measuring his laudanum. 

“I think I’ll be up to working tomorrow,” Crowley said hesitantly after taking the tonic.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “As long as you don’t over-extend yourself, I don’t see why sitting and writing should be an issue.”

Crowley smiled and took her hand. He pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I know I’ve been difficult. _Things_ have been difficult and you’ve been—thank you, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled. She was so pretty. Could people get prettier? Maybe the laudanum was doing something. She leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. 

“I love you, my dear. Sleep well.”

Crowley struggled to process what she said through the fog of the laudanum. “What?”

Aziraphale tilted her head. “Are you alright?”

“What did you just say?” He sat up and his ribs protested but he had to sit up because nothing made sense and maybe the world would make more sense if he was sitting up.

“Crowley, I said I love you and I told you to go to sleep, I don’t know why you’re acting as if you saw a ghost.” Aziraphale was already reaching out to push him back against the pillows and looking very irritated with him as if she hadn’t just imparted new, _very important_ information about their relationship on Crowley.

“You _love me_.”

Aziraphale paused, hands on Crowley’s shoulders. “Yes...Crowley, we’re married,” she said as if Crowley were the dimmest individual on the planet.

“That doesn’t mean we love each other!” Crowley said, near hysterical. The laudanum was dragging at him and he needed to sleep but Aziraphale said she loved him. 

Aziraphale looked at him askance. “It most certainly does,” she said, clicking her tongue. “Now go to sleep. I think the drugs are going to your head.”

* * *

When Crowley woke up Aziraphale was reading in the armchair. He blinked away some of the grogginess that came with the medicine and sat up. It had been four weeks and he really was feeling better. The worst of it was bending down. And his arm of course.

“You love me.”

Aziraphale looked up and closed her book. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“To be perfectly honest, I thought you knew.”

“What?”

Aziraphale gave him an unimpressed look. “We had sex constantly, were practically attached at the hip, and I told you all the time how much I liked you! Granted, _I_ didn’t realize my feelings tended towards the romantic until —”

“See! If you didn’t know, how was I to know?”

“I don’t know!”

“Why are we fighting about this?”

“Because fighting is what we do,” Aziraphale said with a huff. Then she smiled and Crowley’s stomach fluttered.

“I love you too, angel.”

“I _did_ know that.”

“It’s unfair of you to spring this on me while I’m bedridden.”

“Why is that?”

“Limits my ravishing abilities,” Crowley complained.

Aziraphale gave him a flat look. “Ravishing abilities.”

“Any other day, if you said you loved me, you’d already be naked and down on the pillows. But I’m down one hand and my hips would give out if I tried to do half the things I normally do.”

Aziraphale cocked her head. "Maybe, for now, you could just hold me?"

The look on her face was hopeful enough that it knocked the heart from Crowley's chest. 

"Yes. Any time."

Aziraphale peeled back the covers before she got in; she chided him. "No moving though or it's right out."

"Stiff as a board, I am," Crowley confirmed and Aziraphaale scooted in close beside his good arm, leaning her head on his shoulder.

She let out a sigh so contented that Crowley felt like a dunce for not noticing her feelings earlier.

"This isn't me holding you," Crowley pointed out.

"It's a compromise," Aziraphale retorted.

"Right. A compromise."

They sat in silence while Aziraphale twisted the sheet in her fingers.

"Is there anything else you're willing to compromise on regarding how much I'm allowed to--"

"No."

"Right," Crowley said but he smiled before he turned and kissed his wife's head.

She was smiling too.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks for your patience with this posting! Just a smutty fun epilogue for everyone out there.
> 
> CW: Some pronoun switching for Crowley and a mention of past sex-act based dysphoria

"Miss Ashtoreth, that dress looks lovely on you," said an overly affected deep voice behind her.

Crowley rolled her eyes and turned away from the library window. "Aziraphale, we agreed not to do the play-acting business because you're miserable at it." 

She froze when she saw Aziraphale. When they'd agreed to this venture for Anathema's next party, Crowley had not known what to expect. She’d known Aziraphale would look good in trousers because she always looked good. 

Crowley had not given critical thought to her thighs.

Crowley had been lucky enough to see her wife’s thighs dozens of times. Now, clad in tight tan trousers _everyone_ would be able to see them. Crowley's first instinct was to find some way to cover her before she returned to Anathema’s drawing room. Her second was to gawk which managed to overtake the first.

Newt had helped Aziraphale get these clothes, apparently opting for a golden waistcoat and a pale shirt. She didn't look like a man and she never said she wanted to be one. She’d told Crowley she wanted to try menswear and she looked as good as Crowley had thought she would. She always did.

Aziraphale pouted and dropped the voice. "I thought we could have a little fun."

Crowley cleared her throat. "We agreed on a different sort of fun."

"Playacting _is_ fun," Aziraphale said with a saucy wink, sauntering closer with an exaggerated sway as she backed Crowley against the wall.

"Aziraphale," she said warningly, not liking the look in Aziraphale’s eye nor the way her own heart sped up. She was not going to be aroused by this. She refused because it was ridiculous.

Her back hit the wall and Aziraphale’s hands found her waist. 

"But we're all alone, my dear girl," she said, dropping her voice back into that stupidly low register. "No one can stop me."

"I hate you," Crowley said breathlessly and Aziraphale smirked, one of her hands skating across Crowley’s hips and squeezing the evidence of her interest through the front of her dress.

Aziraphale leaned in close. Breath ghosting over Crowley's neck, she said, "The maid doth protest too much. I think she loves me very much."

Aziraphale kissed her neck and Crowley clutching at her back, but before she could tug Aziraphale into a proper kiss, she stepped away.

"Come along," Aziraphale said. "Let's get back to the party."

Crowley gaped and Aziraphale clucked her tongue in response. 

"You said you wanted a tease before you came in here, my dear. What did you expect? To get off right here and now?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and gestured for her to go ahead. 

Crowley felt a little faint as they walked back into the drawing room to watch the rest of the party dance and sing along to the pianoforte. Aziraphale kissed her hand and left her to deal with her spinning head and remaining arousal while she went in search of drinks.

She thought rather suddenly that she had created a monster with the face of an angel.

* * *

It was _fun_ to tease Crowley. She was so expressive. Every touch could raise a blush if Aziraphale planned it right.

Crowley had taken to using a walking stick in the months since her accident, especially at events where there would be a great deal of moving about. At first, she had fussed something fierce about seeming like an invalid and then Aziraphale had found her a decorative black walking stick with fine silver detailing that looked like snakes winding up the cane and she had become more amenable. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale said gently as she came up beside her. Tracy and a few older gentlemen had just left Crowley alone by the windows and Aziraphale thought it a prime opportunity to tease.

"What is it, love?" Crowley asked, shifting her shawl and leaning her walking stick against the wall so she could pick up her drink.

Aziraphale placed her hand on Crowley’s upper arm and lowered her voice. "I was simply thinking of you and wished to come find you."

Crowley gave her a soft smile that made her heart flutter in her throat.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” she said, leaning closer to Crowley who scowled and nudged her with her elbow.

“I could say the same to you.”

“You already have,” Aziraphale replied. “Perhaps I wanted to compliment my wife. Maybe I wished to tell her all the things I was thinking of as I watched her across the room.”

As she reached up to touch Crowley’s cheek, she thrilled to see her face go red and her eyelashes flutter. Aziraphale grinned and grabbed her hip. "I could be some knave here to seduce you to my bedchamber. Whisper sweet nothings in your ear until you swoon into my arms."

Crowley scoffed. "No. Absolutely not."

"Am I embarrassing you, darling?" she asked innocently.

Crowley laughed and wriggled out of her grasp. "No more of your ridiculous antics."

"You like my antics," Aziraphale said, advancing until she had Crowley pinned against a wall. She stole a quick kiss. 

Trying to chase her mouth with little effect, Crowley whined as Aziraphale pulled away. 

“Come find me when you’d like to retire,” she said, ready to make a few more rounds about the room, but Crowley grabbed her before she could.

“I’d like to retire right now.”

Crowley led her upstairs to the room Anathema had reserved for them and, once inside, she tossed aside her walking stick and shawl. She turned back towards Aziraphale and grinned like _she_ was the one about to do the seducing. "How did you like your trousers?"

Aziraphale swallowed and slid her hands down Crowley's sides, gripping her fingers in the soft fabric of her dress before turning them and pushing Crowley back onto the bed. "How do you like my trousers, Crowley?"

Crowley sat on the mattress and smirked. "More than you can know."

She reached out and squeezed one of Aziraphale's thighs. "What do you want to do tonight now that we’ve _retired_?"

Aziraphale pressed closer, running her hands through Crowley's hair and ruining her coiffure entirely. "I was hoping we could finally use that dildo for its intended purpose. With the straps."

Crowley's fingers tightened and she leaned back to peer up at Aziraphale's face. "Are you sure?"

"Do you think your hips can take it?"

"They better," Crowley hissed, reaching up to tug Aziraphale down into a kiss.

She let Crowley take off her jacket and waistcoat but stayed in her shirt and half stays for the sake of keeping her breasts bound. Aziraphale always loved undressing Crowley when she was Miss Ashtoreth. There was something delightful about removing a dress that she found particularly exciting, the slow reveal and then everything off at once.

Once she had Crowley laid out on the bed, she kissed the flat of Crowley's belly, nuzzling the soft hair around her belly button and nipping at the arches of her hip bones. 

"I should probably be on my hands and knees for this—" Crowley broke off on a gasp as Aziraphale sucked a mark on her hip. "For the first time."

"I’m enjoying myself first, my dear," Aziraphale said, pushing her thighs apart so she could settle more comfortably. She hadn’t thought their sex life could have gotten any better than it had been but ever since Crowley's injury and their mutual discussion of shared feelings, Aziraphale had been enjoying herself even more. 

Crowley's injury meant his stamina had decreased; his previous determination to constantly please her foiled by his body's inability to do all the things it used to. 

What this meant for Aziraphale was that she got to do more of the work. It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed laying back and allowing Crowley to bring her off, because who wouldn't enjoy that?

But the sheer eroticism of being able to undo Crowley herself. Pressing him down into the bed and riding him until he was an utter mess. Bringing him to the brink of orgasm with her mouth and getting him off with her fingers in his arse. 

These were the things she thought about on the nights he was too tired to have sex and she ended up pleasuring herself. 

To say she was excited to fuck Crowley was an understatement.

She scooted down the bed and licked a wet stripe up her testicles, nosing under them to suck at her perineum. Crowley made a slight braying noise like a donkey being kicked in the chest and Aziraphale smiled as she hooked one of her arms under Crowley's thigh to tip her hips slightly up.

"Tell me if your hips start to hurt," Aziraphale said, before kissing the place where Crowley's thigh met her groin.

Crowley made a garbled noise of assent just as Aziraphale dipped her tongue to lap at her entrance. It was an awkward angle, forcing Aziraphale to press her nose hard into Crowley's skin, but it was a perfect tease and Aziraphale so dearly loved to tease Crowley. She fell apart so easily. 

Crowley wrapped a hand around herself as Aziraphale spread her open with her thumbs to push further inside. She fluttered her tongue and listened to the sweet sounds of Crowley losing herself before she retreated. 

"I do believe I need some oil for this next bit," Aziraphale said after wiping her the back of her hand over her chin. Crowley was deliciously flushed. She nodded and gestured to the side table. 

"It should be in the drawer."

Aziraphale got out of bed to retrieve the small container and took the time to dig out the dildo and its harness from the trunk. She set both on the bed before removing her trousers and rolling up her sleeves. Crowley watched her with hooded eyes as she buckled herself into the leather straps, aligning the dildo. She was still touching herself lightly, moving her hand up and down her length.

“You look gorgeous," she said as Aziraphale climbed back onto the bed.

"Roll onto your stomach, love," Aziraphale said, hands dropping to Crowley's thighs and helping her move even though she didn't need to.

The long line of Crowley's back was always a beautiful thing. Freckled and strong. With little dimples at the base above the rise of her bum. Aziraphale pressed open mouthed kisses to her spine and spread her legs. 

"Do you want a pillow?" she asked as she urged Crowley's hips up. 

Crowley shook her head. "No, this is good. S’great."

They did this often enough. Crowley liked when she fingered her. They'd done it from a few angles but on hands and knees was always easiest for Crowley to climax. It was also easier for Aziraphale to get her tongue involved.

She carefully tucked the ends of her shirt into the straps of the harness to hold them out of the way before slicking the dildo and then her fingers. 

Crowley let out a low groan when she traced her with the tip of her forefinger. The sound turned deep when she pressed inside.

"That's it, darling," she urged. She curled her finger gently, just enough to make Crowley cry out as she massaged the spot that always had her begging.

"Aziraphale, for fuck’s-you-fuck," she swore, twisting her head to look at her.

Aziraphale gave her two fingers, lazily fucking her as she pet her back. "How are your hips?"

"Miserable, because my wife won’t fuck me _right now_ ," Crowley complained, pressing back on her hand.

She took it away just to be contrary and Crowley whined. "Please."

She was not entirely unaffected herself, the slick between her legs evidence enough. 

"Tell me what to do," Aziraphale said, grasping the base of the dildo and beginning to push inside Crowley. She made a beautiful, punched out noise and fell forward on her elbows as Aziraphale sank slowly inside.

"Move. Your. Hips."

Aziraphale did her best to imitate the movement of Crowley's hips during their most intimate moments. The steady thrust, watching all the while for Crowley's reactions, her little gasps of pleasure when Aziraphale picked up the pace. It was intensely erotic to watch the way Crowley’s body moved, adjusting to accept whatever Aziraphale gave her.

Suddenly, Crowley reached back and slapped at her hand. "Stop."

Aziraphale pulled out. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Crowley said breathlessly. "I want to come inside you."

Aziraphale tried not to show her surprise. While they often made love after parties where Crowley was Ashtoreth, Crowley had confided in her that she didn’t always enjoy penetrative sex when she was a woman. Aziraphale hadn’t pressed the issue at the time, thoroughly enjoying Crowley's mouth on her regardless. Later however, when she asked after they returned home Crowley explained that he wasn't exactly sure but, when he'd tried it before, the movements had felt wrong and uncomfortable so he had stopped trying.

"We don't have to," Aziraphale said as Crowley turned onto her back. She was already sitting up and trying to get off Aziraphale's clothes.

"I want to," Crowley said, tearing at her shirt. She mouthed over Aziraphale's breasts, sucking a nipple into her mouth through the fabric. Aziraphale threw her arms around Crowley's head, forgetting she was still wearing a dildo until Crowley made a harsh oofing noise when it poked her in the ribs

The buckles were summarily undone and the harness tossed aside before Crowley divested her of her shirt.

"Could you…" Crowley broke off and Aziraphale kissed her soundly.

"What do you need, darling?" she asked gently, pushing Crowley's hair from her face.

"I think I'd like it better with you on top."

"I think I'd like it better too," Aziraphale replied, swinging her leg over Crowley's slim hips.

She grasped Crowley's length and sank down on her, gasping at the pure relief of having something inside her. 

"Aziraphale," Crowley said urgently, drawing her attention.

"I love you."

Aziraphale dropped her hands to either side of Crowley's head and began to rock her hips. "I love you too."

* * *

Aziraphale felt so good on top of her, beautiful and soft and everything Crowley wanted. She could just the words now— _I love you—_ whenever she wanted and Aziraphale said it back and she meant it the way Crowley meant it.

Clutching at Aziraphale’s waist, she let herself be caught in the moment. She was allowed to have this. As she wrapped her arms around Aziraphale to pull her down into a kiss, she felt her orgasm begin to build. It was all so much.

“Aziraphale, I’m-”

“That’s alright,” she said, brushing Crowley’s hair back from her face and kissing her.

Her orgasm rushed through her, making her toes curl as she sank her fingers into Aziraphale’s hips. Aziraphale hummed happily and continued to rock on top of her until the tremors passed. 

“I’m sorry that you didn’t—”

“Oh, hush,” Aziraphale said as she climbed off her. “What did we talk about?”

Crowley made an irritated noise in her throat.

“That you can’t always—”

“That I can’t always be the one to take care of you, yes, yes.”

“That we are not keeping track of orgasms or gifts anymore,” Aziraphale said with no small amount of pomposity. 

Crowley peeled one eye open and watched as Aziraphale changed. A very nice view.   
“You say that, but if I didn’t bring any drinking chocolate back from London, you’d be cross.”

“Not keeping track of any gifts except drinking chocolate,” Aziraphale amended as she got back in bed and scooted close to Crowley so she could lay her head on her chest. “And even then, I would forgive you.”

“Whatever you say, angel,” Crowley said, letting her eyes drift shut. She needed to get up and get clean, but just a little rest wouldn’t hurt.

“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Aziraphale said with a prim sniff as she rolled out of bed. Crowley heard the flint strike, and the flickering of a candle illuminated the room.

“I’m going to read a bit if that’s alright?” 

Aziraphale climbed back into bed and pulled up the blanket around her, book in hand. She must have retrieved it from the trunk. 

Crowley groaned and heaved herself out of bed to go clean up. “Would you read aloud for a while?”

Aziraphale gave her a wide smile before opening up her book and settling against the pillows. “Of course I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for sticking with us through this story! I had so much fun brainstorming with Val and writing this whole thing! It was a blast to write in a universe where I could basically cater to all my favorite tropes and go hog wild. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your support, your comments, your kindness. I wasn't sure people would like this fic since it's off the beaten path and your support has meant a great deal to both of us.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. <3


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